


The Agent and the Art Thief: Crocodile Empire

by The_Marvelous_JollyRoger



Series: The Agent and the Art Thief [2]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Art Thief AU, F/M, FBI Agent AU, OUAT - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-04
Updated: 2015-09-04
Packaged: 2018-04-18 22:42:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 29
Words: 30,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4723088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Marvelous_JollyRoger/pseuds/The_Marvelous_JollyRoger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After two years, the mysterious (and flirtatious) art thief known as the Captain walks back into Agent Emma Swan's life, bringing a whole lot of trouble with him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> With such great response from my first story, I was prompted to write its sequel! Thank you so much to everyone who gave me their kind words of appreciation and support! 
> 
> Along with the amazing show White Collar, NBC's the Blacklist also partially inspired the sequel. There's A LOT more Killian in this story (you're welcome) as well as a little bit of tension and sexyfuntimes (you're also welcome). It's longer, more complex, and has more characters. Enjoy, and let me know what you think!

Despite working for the FBI, Belle French didn’t typically have a lot of excitement in her day. Sure, sometimes a case more exciting than insurance fraud or stolen identities would cross her desk on the way to an agent, but most of the time she just filed things, took phone calls, and scheduled meetings. It was good work, she supposed, if not the most thrilling.

She was typing away at her keyboard, sending out a handful of emails and trying to coordinate a meeting between three frustratingly busy higher-ups, when someone approached the front desk. “Pardon me,” he said. “I have need of seeing someone.”

“Just one moment please,” Belle replied, not taking her eyes off the screen. A few seconds later she hit send and swiveled around to face the stranger. She smiled, but the pleasant greeting fell from her face when she recognized just who was standing there. He was unmistakable. Belle had seen so many sketches of him by now, and the artist who’d drawn his portrait for the NYPD to distribute had gotten everything right -- the thick black hair, the stubble on his cheeks and chin, the slight facial scar next to his nose...they’d even managed to capture the mischievous glint in his eyes.          

He grinned as her own mouth fell open in shock. “Would you mind telling Agent Emma Swan that the Captain is here?” he asked, leaning so casually against the FBI’s front desk. “And that he’s got one _hell_ of a deal for her?”

 

…

 

Special Agent Emma Swan had been making several arrests when the call came in from headquarters. She brushed it off at first, focusing instead on securing the handcuffs on four members of the elusive Nottingham gang. They’d been hitting banks in organized robbery sprees for a few months now, but - with the help of some anonymous tips she was sure came from members of Nottingham’s rival gang, the Merry Men - she’d managed to snag their leader.

Emma barely heard the string of curse-heavy insults coming from the four captured thieves. After each had been loaded into the back of a prison transport van, she let out a large breath, rested her hands on her hips, and smiled. Not a bad start to the day; she hadn’t even had a chance for coffee yet.

“ _Shit_.” The hissed swear drew her attention to her partner, pacing with his phone glued to his ear. His expression was stormy. She walked over to him, hoping to hear whoever was on the other line, but when David saw her out of the corner of his eye he sighed. “She’s right here, sir.” He handed her the phone.

Emma frowned, worried that whatever news was on the other end of the line would spoil her good mood. “Agent Swan,” she said, squaring her shoulders.

“Swan, Jesus, there you are,” said the exasperated voice of her supervisor.

“Sorry, sir,” she said, “was a little busy taking down half the Nottingham gang.”

“Well we’ve got a situation here that takes priority,” Supervisor Spencer said. “I need you back ASAP, Swan. Let the locals handle the Nottingham guys.”

Emma glanced over her shoulder and nodded at the officers waiting outside the transport van. One slapped the palm of his hand on the back doors twice before climbing into the cab and driving away. Sirens started up along with the red and blue lights, making way for the van.

“You’ve been riding us about Nottingham for months; what takes priority?” Emma asked. She glanced up at David, who still looked stricken and agitated.

“The Captain.”

Emma’s whole body did a hard stop. She was sure even her heart stopped beating and her blood stilled in her veins for a few seconds. Her brain short-circuited for a moment before lurching into overdrive.

“The Captain,” she repeated, her once stalled heart now jackhammering. It’d been nearly two years since her run in with the art thief. He hadn’t made even the tiniest blip on any radar since the day he’d given her Edward Thatch.

“He just walked through the goddamn front door,” Supervisor Spencer said, likely rubbing his temples.

“ _Why_?” Emma breathed, a headache starting to form at the back of her skull.

“Hell if I know; he refuses to talk to anyone but you, Swan.”

 


	2. Chapter 2

The man she’d been chasing for nearly three years was sitting in an FBI interrogation room, cuffed to the steel table. Emma watched him through the two-way mirror, arms crossed, jaw set. It was petty, but she felt almost robbed. She hadn’t caught him, he’d turned himself in.

He just sat there. He didn’t drum his fingers on the table in boredom, didn’t tug on the chains of his cuffs, didn’t whistle to himself, didn’t groan in frustration. He was just sitting there. Emma knew he was right where he wanted to be, but for the life of her she couldn’t figure out why.

They were trying to sweat him, make him antsy and impatient, but clearly it wasn’t working. They’d even turned up the freaking temperature of the interrogation room, but he wasn’t bothered. Emma growled out a sigh and pushed off the wall, stalking towards the door. David stopped her, a hand on her shoulder.

“Sure that’s a good idea?” he asked.

“We’re sure as hell not gonna find out what’s going on by sitting back here,” she said.

“Who cares what’s going on,” David replied. “We’ve got him. Doesn’t matter how. The sooner we throw him in a cell, the better.”

Emma snorted. “Of _course_ it matters how. He didn’t waltz into the FBI headquarters just to have us slap cuffs on him. There’s a reason. Belle said he wants to make some sort of deal; at the very least we should find out what it is.”

David’s jaw clenched as he threw a look at the art thief. “He’s a creep,” he muttered. “You remember that goddamn painting he made…”

Of course she remembered. Finding yourself painted as Botticelli’s Venus wasn’t something you forgot. The FBI had confiscated it along with all his stolen treasures left in that storage container, but Emma managed to snap a picture on her phone. She still wasn’t entirely sure why she did it; it really only served as a constant reminder that he’d slipped through her fingers and was still out there somewhere. Sometimes she found the picture...unsettling, other times oddly endearing. She couldn’t deny that it was a good likeness of her, and a good painting overall. He’d even done her the kindness of covering up her breasts with her flowing hair rather than having them bare like in the original.

Emma shook herself, refocusing on the criminal just on the other side of the glass. “I remember,” she said, trying to keep her voice neutral. “And I also remember he’s the one that got us Thatch. If he has another offer like that...we ought to at least check it out.”

“Fine,” David said, nearly through his teeth. “But I’m coming in with you.”

Emma wasn’t sure if David’s promise of going in with her made her feel better or more anxious. He’d always been protective, growing more and more so as their partnership went on. They had each other’s backs. But this was one particular circumstance where the protectiveness could get in the way...if David played the older brother role too much, they might not get what they need out of their prisoner.

But she nodded at him, turned and opened the door. Instantaneously, the Captain’s eyes latched onto hers - just as vibrant and sultry as before, she noted. His smirk blossomed into a full-toothed smile. “The _lovely_ Agent Swan,” he said, leaning back in his metal chair. “We meet again at last.”


	3. Chapter 3

In the two years since she’d seen him last, Emma Swan had forgotten how easily he got under her skin...in more ways than one. His intense blue eyes could see right through any armor she put up. His accented, deliberate voice sent shivers down the back of her neck. The slight tilt of his lips made something stir in the pit of her stomach.

But she ignored all that, shoving it aside as she pressed her palms to the table and leaned down, trying to tower over him. “You wanted me. Here I am,” she said.

“So you are,” he hummed, allowing his eyes to follow the curve of her neck for just a moment. “Lucky me.” Emma’s breath faltered for a second. Hell of a way to start this stupid thing. She pulled out the chair opposite him and sat down, crossing her arms. _You’re supposed to be the one in control here_ , she thought to herself.

David stood right behind her. She could feel the heat of his glare without even looking at him. “You said you had some sort of deal,” she said, staring straight at him. He met her stare with his usual confidence.

“You’ve got a bit of color in your cheeks, Agent Swan,” he said. “Have a rousing morning?”

“Answer her,” David warned.

The Captain didn’t even bother looking at the other agent. “Yes, I did,” Emma said before either of the men could say anything else. “We took down half of the Nottingham gang this morning. I should be processing them right now, getting them to sell out the other half, but instead I’m here. So you better not be wasting my time.”

His brow quirked up, seemingly amused by her tight-lipped outburst. “Not in the mood for pleasantries, I see,” he said, sitting forward. “Very well, Agent Swan. I’ve recently found myself in possession of some damning evidence, connecting a well-off business empire to a wealth of dirty dealings. Not the least of which includes murder.”

Emma and David were both shocked. Her spine straightened, processing what he was telling her. “When did you go from stealing art to stealing information?” she asked.

“I’m an opportunist, my dear Agent Swan. Though I must confess I didn’t seek out this particular information, it fell in my lap.”

“What information?” David asked. For the first time since they came into the room, the Captain tore his eyes away from Emma and looked at her partner.

“I offer that and my deal only to Agent Swan,” he said. “I’ll happily divulge it to her, but not in present company or locale.”

David snorted. “If you think for one second you’re going anywhere other than a cell-”

“You _need_ what I know, Agent Swan,” the Captain said, swinging his gaze back to her. “I’m afraid this corruption runs deep in a prominent and influential business. Lives may very well depend on it.”

“If you were really concerned, you’d volunteer the information,” Emma said. “You’re not a good Samaritan, so don’t play that card. You want something out of this. You only gave us Thatch because it was convenient.”

For just a moment a flash of indignation crossed his face. “I could’ve easily ignored this situation,” he said, his voice even. “Instead I brought it to you.”

“With plenty of strings attached, I’m sure,” David hissed. “You’ve got some sort of plan up your sleeve.”

The Captain smirked, looking at David as though he were a moron. “Of _course_ I have a plan. Of course I have conditions. I’m a thief, certainly, but I’ve no stomach for crimes which harm the lives of the innocent and helpless, Agent Nolan.”

Emma searched the art thief’s face, searching for clues as to his motivation or secret. “What conditions?” she asked after a few seconds.

“ _Emma_!” David snapped.

“I didn’t agree to them yet,” she replied. “But if he’s telling the truth then some murderer is out there hurting people.”

“That’s a pretty big freaking _if_ ,” he growled.

Despite the tension, the Captain was smiling as if he were having a picnic in Central Park. “Three things,” he announced. “One: I remain free from incarceration during the duration of my assistance with this case. Two: I work with and answer _only_ to Agent Swan. Three: should my information and involvement lead to the arrest of this detestable man, I ask for one simple reward…” He trailed off, smirking as the two agents waited on his words.

“Another kiss from Agent Emma Swan.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edit: Re-uploaded, formatting should be fixed :)

With one word he’d turned her day from a victory to an absolute nightmare. The whole sentence was bad, of course, but that one stupid word - _another_ \- made everything crash down around her. She’d wanted to reach across the table and slap him. David nearly did, though with a closed fist instead of an open palm.

Now she sat in the office of Supervisor Albert Spencer, getting the ass-chewing of the century. She’d lost track of which thing he was harping on now. Earlier it had been professionalism -- agents don’t _cavort_ with criminals!

“I have half a mind to boot you from this case, Swan!” the man snapped, pacing behind his desk. “More than half to ground you to desk duty for the next six months.” Emma didn’t bother trying to defend herself; Spencer had as much patience as he did hair. Only once he’d blown all his steam would he even let her speak.

“ _First_ you broker a deal with a known felon _without_ my approval, and then you withhold details from your report! Your behavior is disgraceful enough, Swan, but covering it up?”

“ _He_ kissed _me_ , not the other way around,” she snapped. “Look, do you think I liked all those stupid flirty notes he left behind? Do you think I found those gifts, that painting, flattering? You can blame me for omitting certain details from my report, but you can’t blame me for _his_ actions!”

“I don’t want to hear it, Swan!” Spencer snapped, jabbing a finger at her. “Because of you we’ve got a goddamn disaster on our hands. Can you imagine the field day the press would have with this story?” He trailed off, shaking his head. He rubbed his temples as he sat down.

Emma waited a few moments before speaking again. “What are we going to do about his deal, sir?”

“Agent Nolan is with him now. Until we have some shred of evidence that the bastard even _has_ information on a dirty business mogul, you’re not going anywhere near him, is that understood?” Spencer said.

“Yes, sir,” she replied, forcing herself to keep her voice and expression neutral.

“Good.” Spencer said back in his chair. “Go home, Swan. The Captain will keep until morning.”

“Respectfully, sir, I’d like to return to the Nottingham assignment. It’s not finished,” she said, getting up. “Things are more than a little shaken up around here, maybe it’s best if I go about business as usual.”

“Fine, Swan, just get out of my office. You’ve caused me more than enough trouble today.”

Emma gave a curt nod before turning on her heels, marching through the building, retrieving her things from her desk, and heading down to the precinct where the Nottingham boys were being processed. She was acutely aware of all the eyes that followed her on the way out, though they darted away if she looked back.

She was distracted for the rest of the day, her mind stuck firmly on the Captain problem instead of the bank robbers in front of her. She’d never believed the term “honor among thieves” but none of the Nottingham gang would turn on their partners, not even for a lighter prison sentence. Agent Swan went home that night frustrated and drained, not looking forward to the sleepless nights and hellish week ahead.


	5. Chapter 5

Emma sat on her bed, staring at the blown up picture entitled: _Birth of a Swan_. She’d fished it out of a box of Captain-related things she’d tucked into the recesses of her closet. Now all those pictures were once again tacked up on her wall. The penciled sketch would be replaced by a full-color photo soon, she supposed.

She drummed her fingers on the manila file in her lap. His name was Killian Jones; they’d found out that much. The sketch coupled with the first name had circulated through different channels with little to show for it. Emma had gone to Thatch, had tried to get the lecherous thief to turn on his former partner, but despite her pointing out that Killian had betrayed him, Thatch wouldn’t give up any details about the Captain.

The file was disappointingly sparse. They found his birth certificate, an English driver’s license, an enlistment form for the Royal Navy as well as a dishonorable discharge. But after that, Killian Jones was more a ghost than a man. He’d vanished off public record, likely to start up his identity as the Captain.

“Knock knock.” Emma looked up to see Mary Margaret poking her head through the door. She looked sheepish. Her roommate had baked gooseberry pies to celebrate the “inevitable downfall of the Nottingham jerks” for that night, but of course Emma wasn’t in a celebratory mood.

“Hey,” she said.

Mary Margaret bumped the door the rest of the way open, revealing a mug in one hand and a slice of pie in the other. She sat on the bed next to Emma, offering the two things. “Figured victory food could be used as comfort food too,” she said. Emma grinned and took them, wrapping her fingers around the warm mug. She muttered out a thanks. Mary Margaret stared at the wall of Captain pictures, suppressing a shudder.

“So what are you going to do now?” her roommate asked, her voice reserved.

Emma swallowed a bite of the pie -- she’d learned long ago that Mary Margaret’s baked goods were too delicious to pass up just because she wasn’t hungry -- before answering. “Well, unless he actually has some useful intel, nothing.”

“He wouldn’t have just walked into the FBI if he didn’t have anything,” Mary Margaret said.

“I know,” Emma replied. “Whatever this is, it’s not good. Criminals don’t just turn themselves in unless they’re scared.”

“D’you think whoever he’s got the dirt on threatened him or something?”

Emma shrugged. “Too early to say. We don’t really know anything…”

Mary Margaret let out a frustrated sigh, mirroring Emma’s own thoughts. She speared another piece of pie with slightly more force than necessary. “What did he say to you?”

“Hmm?” Emma chased down the pie with a gulp of cinnamon hot cocoa.

“The Captain. He must’ve said something to you. If he’d just come in with only that information you’d be shocked, not agitated. What did he say to you?”

Emma set the plate and mug aside on the nightstand, rubbing her palms together. “He was always irritating,” she started. “But...I don’t know, one of his conditions for coughing up the information was…” She didn’t even know what to call it. Upsetting? Disturbing? Embarrassing? “Unorthodox.”

“What was it?” Mary Margaret asked, her eyes wide.

Emma hesitated. The last thing she wanted to hear tonight was her roommate giving another “oh isn’t that  _romantic_?” speech. She looked away, scratching at a scab on her knuckle earned that morning for clocking one of the Nottingham guys. “He said that...if we arrested whoever...that he wanted, um, another kiss. From me.”

Mary Margaret was the only one who knew that she and the Captain had kissed that night. She hadn’t even told David. Mary Margaret tried her best to keep from making some sort of expression. Emma couldn’t even tell if the school teacher was horrified or intrigued. Or both.

“What did you say?”

“Nothing,” Emma admitted. “Things got out of hand after that.”

“ _Would_ you agree to it?”

Emma shot a look at her roommate who just lifted her eyebrows in innocence. “No,” she said, scoffing. “Well, I mean... _maybe_. But only if this dirty business guy is actually worth pursuing. If the Captain’s telling a truth about this mystery man hurting innocent people and committing murder… Sure. I’d agree. It’s one stupid little kiss versus taking down a criminal.”

Mary Margaret bit the inside of her cheek, a smile struggling to form on her lips. Emma rolled her eyes. “Unbelievable,” she muttered. She stood up and shrugged off her jacket.

“Hey, _you’re_ the one who said he was a good kisser,” Mary Margaret reminded her. “And with a face like that, I’m not surprised you’d want to do it again.”

Emma paused as she kicked off her boots. “I said I’d _agree_ to kiss him, not that I actually would.”


	6. Chapter 6

“August Booth,” David said to her the second she walked in.

“Good morning to you too,” she muttered, handing him a coffee. “What about August Booth?”

“Our mouthy criminal gave us one clue. August Booth.”

Emma shrugged off her jacket and slung it over the back of her chair. “The journalist?”

David nodded. “He’s been missing for over a week now. Gone without a trace. The Captain said Booth disappeared because of some connection to his corrupt businessman.”

Emma sucked down some of her coffee, knowing today she’d need more than one caffeine fix. “If memory serves, Booth wrote about some pretty high profile cases. Did a lot of damning exposes. That’s bound to make you a lot of enemies. The Captain might have something after all.”

David’s face twisted into a frown. “You’re not seriously thinking about doing this, are you?”

“Our job is to catch bad guys: thieves, extortionists, kidnappers. If there is a murderer out there, I’m damn well going to do anything in my power to stop him. And if that means working with a criminal...so be it.”

“This isn’t like looking the other way when Will Scarlet pickpockets somebody, Emma,” he warned.

“I know,” she said. “And I don’t plan to let the Captain hold all the cards. He’s working for us, not the other way around.”

“Might want to tell _him_ that,” David muttered.

She threw back another drink of coffee before leaving it on her desk and heading for the interrogation room. David was right on her heels.

Emma had expected today to be full of frustrations and hair-pulling, but she figured it would all come from the Captain, not the sandy, curly-haired agent waiting for her in the two-way observation room.

“ _Graham_?”

The agent looked up at her, smiling. “Good morning, Emma,” he said, straightening up. “It’s been awhile, hasn’t it?”

“Yeah,” she stammered, too surprised to fully compose herself. “Uh, what’s Interpol doing here?”

Graham laughed. “You mean what am _I_ doing here? I’ve been called in to consult on the case. This isn’t the first time I’ve used a CI to take down a high profile bad guy.”

“Graham,” David said in greeting, reaching out with his hand.

“Nolan.” They shook.

“Now, your supervisor’s given the go-ahead to agree to some of Mr. Jones’ conditions. Of course, we have some ground rules of our own he’ll have to agree to.”

David was staring at the art thief through the mirror. The Captain looked only slightly less enthusiastic than before. “He only asked to be free during the investigation...not after,” he noted.

“Yeah, we noticed that,” Graham said, resting his hands on his hips and joining David at the mirror. “However I very much doubt it’s a lapse in judgement.”

“Of course it isn’t,” Emma said. Both agents turned to her. “ _Asking_ to be set free would take all the fun out of stealing it for himself.”

“Right, well, let’s get this underway, shall we?” Graham picked something off of the table, holding it out to Emma. “Tracking anklet. He wears this or there’s no deal whatsoever. It’ll allow us to follow his movements within the city. If he goes outside the parameters or tries to unlock it without the code, it’ll send an alert to all law enforcement New York has to offer.”

Emma whistled, examining the anklet. It was made of hard plastic and looked uncomfortable. “Anything else?” she asked.

“Yes. Remind him that he doesn’t have immunity during the course of this case. No illegal activities, even if it’s in the name of catching our crook,” the Irish Interpol agent said. “And that even if he only directly works with you, Emma, that the rest of the team will be privy to any and all information given.”

“Got it,” she said.

He offered her a smile. “Good luck.”

Emma sucked in one last breath before nodding to each agent, opening the door, and walking into the interrogation room.


	7. Chapter 7

Any trace of boredom was wiped from his face the second she stepped into the room. He was all smiles. “So they’ve agreed to my terms,” he said.

“Some of them,” she countered. “And we’ve got some of our own.” She wiggled the tracking anklet. His expression flattened.

“You’ll find I don’t work well on a leash, love,” he said.

“It’s Agent Swan, and if you refuse this we’re done here.” He held her gaze for a moment or two, testing her bluff.

He sighed, relenting. “Every relationship is made of compromises, I suppose,” he said. “I’ll wear the collar so long as _you’re_ the one tugging the chain.”

She sneered at him. “Don’t be cute,” she muttered.

“That, my dear, is an impossibility. I can’t help what I naturally am,” he said, leaning back in his chair and tucking up both legs onto the table. She figured he’d be resting both arms behind his back like he was lying in a hammock if he wasn’t chained down.

“An ass?” she muttered, walking around the table and prepping the anklet.

“Well I was going to say devilishly charming, actually,” he said with a wink.

“Shut up.” She refused to look anywhere remotely near his face as she lifted up his pant leg and fit the anklet on him. It was unsettling to be so near him, especially with other agents watching their every move. She couldn’t get to the other side of the table fast enough.

Emma rattled off the other guidelines, to each one he made his typical snarky comments. After he agreed to their terms - for the record - it was time for her to do the same. She stated her cooperation to the first two conditions.

“And what of my reward, Agent Swan?” he asked, refusing to let her gloss over it.

“We’ll find some appropriate reward for your cooperation,” she said, reciting right out of the handbook. “ _If_ you’re good on your word.”

“I wouldn’t have walked into the proverbial jaws of the beast if I meant to lie and trick, my dear Agent Swan, you can trust me on that. But how good is the word of the FBI? Already backing out of promises?”

Emma was fed up of averting her eyes or being embarrassed. She leaned over the table, narrowing her gaze a little. “I haven’t promised anything yet,” she reminded him. “And like you said, all relationships are made of _compromises_.”

He didn’t take the bait. “So you’d rather a very bad man continue to preside over a dangerous criminal empire than sacrifice a sliver of pride and kiss me?”

The challenge hung in the air. She knew he wouldn’t move past this until it was settled. She rolled her eyes and stood up. “God, you’re like a 12 year old. Yes. Fine. I’ll do it.”

He beamed. “In that case, Agent Swan, I’m feeling a trifle more cooperative. What say you we stretch our legs and take a stroll?”

She dug out the cuff keys from her pocket and undid his restraints. “Much obliged, Agent Swan,” he said, rising to his feet and rubbing his wrists. “And as fascinating as it’s been to lie with my enemies, I must admit I’m antsy to be away.”

“You talk too much,” Emma muttered, opening the interrogation room door. On the other side, David and Graham were waiting. Her partner glared at the art thief while Graham tried to gauge Emma’s thoughts.

“We’ll be monitoring his movements from here,” the Interpol agent said. “He’s got city-wide range, but we’ll be alerted if he goes anywhere near particular areas of interest.”

“Well there go all of my secret plans to pilfer treasures from museums while I send you lot on a wild goose chase,” the Captain replied, rolling his eyes. David wasn’t amused by the sarcasm in the slightest.

“I’ll be overseeing the arrangements for him,” Graham finished.

“Meanwhile I’ll chase down any leads he might actually give us,” David said, finally looking at Emma.

“Perhaps it’s not my place to say, Agent Nolan, but I’m sensing you have deep-seated trust issues.”

David’s eyes flared, but Emma intervened before anyone could blow up. “Let’s go,” she said, “We’ve wasted enough time already.”

If being in the heart of the FBI intimidated him at all, the Captain didn’t show it in the slightest. In fact, he paraded down the halls, flashing smiles and bidding good mornings to anyone he saw.

Reaching her desk, Emma took a drink from her now lukewarm coffee and shrugged on her gun harness before slipping into her red leather jacket. After double checking that she had everything, she grabbed her keys and motioned for him to follow. He was right on her heels, of course, but paused at the front desk.

“Thanks for your assistance, my dear,” he said to Belle. “I hope you have a day even half as lovely as you are.” He threw her a wink before Emma pulled him away, half shoving him in front of her. She glanced over her shoulder at the FBI secretary. Belle was a little surprised, but gave Emma a shrug before continuing with her emails.

The Captain inhaled deeply when they stepped outside, grinning to himself. Emma jammed her hands in her pockets and walked down the sidewalk, an international criminal strolling along next to her.

 

 


	8. Chapter 8

“Isn’t this pleasant? No sneaking around in the shadows of warehouses, no disguised encounters, just you and I walking through one of the greatest cities in the world,” he said, grinning ear to ear.

“Yeah, it’s just peachy,” she replied, angling towards a coffee place.

“Oh come now, Swan, you can’t deny it’s a lovely day,” he said, motioning towards the cloudless sky.

The second they left the FBI station he’d stopped calling her agent. At first it agitated her - she didn’t want him getting any more _familiar_ with her than necessary - but tossing the term “agent” while out and about in a criminal-rich city was probably not the best idea.

“Two coffees,” she said to the barista manning the outdoor coffee cart. “Black.”

She fished out her pocket and opened her wallet, reaching for a few bills. “Allow me,” the Captain said, pushing money across the sticky counter before she could protest. She just gave him a look. “What? A gentleman pays for the first date.”

Emma had to bite back more than a few choice words before she responded. “Let’s get this clear right off the bat,” she said, staring him down. “This is _not_ playtime. It’s not fun. It is work and you are not my friend, my date, or even my partner. You are a _tool_...in more ways than one.”

The barista was staring at them, awkwardly holding out their coffees. Emma took hers and stepped away from the counter, heading for the park. He caught up to her a moment later. “Not the smoothest beginning to our assignment, I’ll confess,” he said. With two strides he cut her off, looking at her for the first time without a smug grin. “Why don’t we give it a fresh start?” Emma wasn’t amused by whatever charming con-man stunt he was trying to pull. She just waited for him to say whatever he was going to say, eager to get on with their actual work. “As the Captain is a rather illustrious moniker, why don’t you simply call me Killian?” he asked.

“Great. Killian. You can call me Agent Swan. And then you can tell me whatever secret you’ve been so keen on sharing or I’ll throw your ass back into a cell and call this whole thing off,” she warned.

The smile fell from his lips. “Touchy. Right then. I think I spy a bench. Care to sit for our conversation, _Agent_ Swan?” He moved towards the park bench without waiting for her response, sitting and stretching out his long legs. When the anklet peeked out from beneath his dark jeans, he made a distasteful face and readjusted till it was hidden.

He drank his coffee as she sat next to him, making a show of the space between them. “Before I say anything, I must ask: do you have any recording devices on your person, Agent Swan?”

“Are you going to say something incriminating?” she asked, still irked.

He quirked a brow, looking halfway serious for the first time. “What’s that phrase you Americans say? I’ll plead the fifth as to how this information came to me, but that’s not my primary concern.” He gave her a hard look, as if trying to communicate through silence.

It took a few seconds of her narrowing her eyes in concentration before she caught his meaning. “You think someone at the Bureau is connected to this murderer guy?” He didn’t say a thing, just looked at her pointedly. “No, I don’t have any recorders on me. Nobody’s listening in on us.”

The Captain -- Killian -- sat back, relaxing a little. “How much do you know about Gold Standard Financial?”

Emma blinked. “It’s a loan firm, broad client base. Back up to the part where you think there’s a corrupt agent in the FBI.”

“Besides seeking the pleasure of your company, Swan, I have suspicions about the legitimacy of some members of import within your agency. You were the only one I knew without a doubt was clean of this whole wretched mess.”

“And how’d you know that?” she asked.

The maddening smirk returned. “Because you didn’t want to kiss me.” Emma nearly choked on her coffee, coughing as she sat up.

“Do I _want_ to hear the rest of this explanation?” she spat.

He continued regardless. “Back at the shipyard. You resisted my natural charms for as long as you could, and the guilt you feel about _fraternizing_ with a felon is apparent to all. You have true passion for your work, a dedication to what you believe is your duty. As far as I’m concerned, you’re incorruptible.”

“Will you _please_ just tell me what Gold Standard Financial has to do with a missing journalist, a corrupt businessman, a murder, and dirty FBI personnel?” she asked.

“Certainly,” he said, taking a sip of his drink. “The CEO is the head of a crime empire.”

“The CEO,” Emma repeated. “The guy who, just last week, donated a couple million dollars to hurricane relief?”

“Robert Gold,” the art thief said with a nod.

“That’s a pretty damn wild accusation against a high-profile philanthropist,” she said, both her gaze and voice flat. “What evidence do you have that he’s dirty?”

“Well for starters,” he said, looking her in the eye, “he hired me to steal something for him.”


	9. Chapter 9

Emma went wide eyed, her jaw dropping open. “He _hired_ you? To steal _what_?”

He waved a hand. “The what isn’t important, it’s the why.”

“I think I’ll decide what’s important,” she retorted, “since I’m gonna be the one writing up the case file. Tell me what _and_ why.”

Killian sighed, casting wistful looks around the park. His eyes followed a couple on a morning jog, then a dog walker. “Robert Gold isn’t just a dealer of loans, he also deals favors...for those desperate enough to seek his help. On the surface, his company is legitimate. But underground, behind the scenes, he has much darker dealings going on. Tell me, Swan, have you heard any whispers of someone called the Crocodile?”

Emma’s head was spinning. She sucked in a breath before nodding. “Just rumors, mostly. A few of my contacts seem spooked by the name.”

“As well they should be,” Killian said with a nod. “Gold’s essentially an extortionist. People go to him for assassination hits, revenge schemes, political advancement, jailbreaks. And, in truth, if he only dealt with such scum I wouldn’t very much care. But there are fools desperate enough for more sympathetic favors -- mandatory organ transplants, college tuition payments, complete relocation. When people have nowhere to go, when other lawful means have failed them, they seek out the Crocodile.”

“How do they pay him?” Emma asked. She knew this was going to be a big case from the second Spencer told her the Captain was involved, but now it all felt...enormous. She went after thieving gangs and white collar con artists...not criminal empires.

“With favors. He gets them what they need and asks for their help in the future. The Crocodile is quite adept at discovering the value of each of his _clients_ , and will put them to use gaining more power of his own.” He drummed his fingers on the sleeve of his coffee.

“I was hired by a third party to steal a painting from a historic museum. The only detail about the client I was given was that the painting belonged to their family and had been lost to history and once recovered, the government wanted to hang it up on display rather than gift it back to the descendants.” He gave a small shrug.

“I didn’t think you’d hire yourself out like that,” Emma mused.

Killian seemed briefly amused. “A lad’s got to eat. Besides, my spree though New York two years ago was mere hobby. It was sport, not profit I was after…”

Emma would’ve doubted that, if he hadn’t given her the storage container holding every single piece. She cleared her throat, readjusting on the bench. “If you were hired by a third party, how d’you know it was Gold?”

“Despite my pretty face, Swan, I’m quite adept at mathematics as well,” he said, flashing a grin. “Months later, a prominent politician was arrested in his home. He’d been feeding government secrets to whom the media believed were hostile forces. The painting I’d stolen was hanging in the man’s living room; you could see it plain as day on the newsreel. I put two and two together. In return for the sentimental piece of art, the Crocodile asked the politician for national information.”

Emma shook her head, trying to make sense of it all. “That still doesn’t explain _how_ you know the Crocodile is, in fact, Robert Gold.”

Killian snorted. “Everyone knows it’s him...but none are willing to cross him…”

“But you are,” Emma said. She meant to say it like a question, but it didn’t come out that way, surprising them both. “Would you testify?”

He actually threw his head back and laughed, much to Emma’s chagrin. “A sense of humor too, Swan? My, what a package you are. No. I fancy my head remaining attached to my shoulders. I’m taking enough of a risk associating at all with the FBI.”

“Well you’re not exactly trying to be _subtle_ about it,” she said, irritated. “If you wanted to, you could’ve just slipped us a message somehow. You didn’t have to waltz right into the HQ.”

He pursed his lips for a second, thinking. “Besides, all of my own evidence is circumstantial. I know how much you lawmen enjoy your solid facts. That’s where you come in, my dear Swan. Together we can each access channels in which the other is not welcome.”

She studied him, trying to make heads or tails of his own motivation. But his reasons weren’t a priority. First they had to take down the Crocodile. “Tell me about August Booth.”


	10. Chapter 10

Mary Margaret couldn’t be more conspicuous if she tried. The teacher was sitting on their couch, grading papers, drinking coffee. Emma rolled her eyes as she kicked the door closed behind her. “It was weird,” she announced, ready to dive straight in.

“What was?” Mary Margaret asked, her voice higher-pitched than usual. Her tell-tale sign.

“Drop the innocent act,” Emma sighed, reaching for a beer in the fridge. “You’re drinking coffee. You never drink coffee after five unless you plan on staying up all night.”

“I’m grading papers,” her roommate said, motioning towards the sheets covering their table. “But...if you want to talk about your day babysitting an international super-criminal who has the hots for you...I’m more than willing to take a break and listen.”

Emma downed nearly a third of the drink in one go before ambling over to the living room and collapsing in a heap on the armchair. “It was weird,” she repeated, rubbing the bridge of her nose. “This whole thing is a lot bigger than I’d anticipated.”

“So he _does_ have something,” Mary Margaret said, fully abandoning the essays. “What is it?”

Emma hesitated. “I gotta play this one close to the chest, M...it’s sensitive stuff.”

“Oh! Gotcha.” She pretended to lock her lips and throw away the key, prompting Emma to smile. “So if we can’t talk about _case_ details…”

And the smile dropped. “Are you sure _you_ aren’t in love with him?”

Mary Margaret put her nose into the air. “I’m quite happy with David, thank you, but that doesn’t mean I can’t root for my best friend to land a hot British guy.”

Emma grunted in response. Her roommate had been dating her partner for over a year now, effectively eliminating the line between work and home. Not that she _usually_ minded. David was a great friend, and she saw how happy they made each other. Still, every once in a while she’d learn a detail about her FBI partner that she really didn’t need to know.

“Just because he’s helping us doesn’t mean he’s not a criminal,” Emma said, sucking down more beer. She had a feeling they’d need more by the end of the week.

“I’m not saying to _marry_ the guy, Emma...but, you know, a _fling_ couldn’t…”

“And I’m, I am _so_ done,” the agent said, standing up so fast she felt dizzy.

“Don’t deny it,” Mary Margaret called after her as she practically fled to her bedroom. “He’s hot.”

Emma rolled her eyes as she started peeling out of her work clothes. “Yeah, ok, he’s _attractive_ ,” she replied, hating the words on her tongue. “And today he wasn’t a _total_ ass the whole time…” She heard Mary Margaret’s muffled squeal from halfway across the apartment. Emma slipped into a robe and grabbed a towel off the hook. “But that does not mean I want to _sleep_ with him.”

She slipped into the shared bathroom, pulling back the shower curtain. “Oh sure, you _won’t_ sleep with him...but _want_ is another thing entirely, Emma.”

“What’s that? I couldn’t hear you over the water,” Emma called, flinging the shower on. Mary Margaret muttered out something that Emma was sure she was glad to miss.

The hot water was soothing, the steam pushing all thought from her mind. She focused on the rhythmic pounding of the water on her back, the smell of the lavender shampoo, the feel of the heat. She let out a charged breath, massaging her scalp and letting the water wash it away.

There was another heat brewing; one she had frustratingly little control over. Without really thinking, her fingertips brushed down her bare stomach, trailed along her hips, lingered… Emma shook herself, water droplets flying everywhere. What the hell was she thinking? Even if nobody found out about her little happy-shower-time daydream, _she’d_ know. She wouldn’t be able to see him without remembering it. And that was one slippery slope she refused to go down.

But try as she might, little thoughts pervaded her resolve as the night wore on. They’d pop in at the dumbest moments. When she changed into her pajamas: _does he wear boxers or briefs_? While she cooked dinner for herself: _what does he taste like_? Brushing her teeth: _I bet his hair looks amazing ruffled up afterwards._ Listening to a late night talk show with Mary Margaret: _oh the_ things _he’d whisper in my ear_.

It only got worse when she crawled into bed, with nothing from distracting her traitorous thoughts from running wild. She tossed and turned, clutching the blanket tight around her as if it’d form a shield against it all.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp, this one's really short.

Yesterday Killian explained the situation to her, today she briefed her team. He made it clear that she should keep some things to herself, since he was certain the Crocodile had someone under his thumb within the FBI.

But Emma couldn’t keep David or Graham in the dark, and she didn’t want to either. She trusted David with her life. And Graham...well, she knew he was loyal too. David complained about the “lack of information their _friend_ was providing” but Emma had a feeling Graham knew she was hiding away some of the details.

Killian wanted her to handle the case solo, but that was impossible. Supervisor Spencer gave them just enough free reign over their cases that he wasn’t breathing down their necks, but things were still run by him first. Eventually she’d have to go to him with evidence against Robert Gold. And since they were going after such a powerful man, making it a solo case would be incredibly dangerous.

At noon, she made a call to check in with her temporary CI. “Heard anything yet?” she asked when he picked up.

“And hello to you too, my dear Swan,” he replied. “Not even a full day without me and already you’re missing me? I’m touched.”

“Have you _heard_ anything?” she repeated, glad she wasn’t there to see his dumb smirk. While she worked from the FBI side of things, he was supposed to be putting feelers out among the criminal community to see if the Crocodile needed any jobs done.

“Can’t say I have, love,” he replied. Emma heard honks and pedestrians behind him, as well as the rattle of dishes. “But it’s early yet. You and I will need copious amounts of patience in order to snare our beast.”

Emma might have growled out a “don’t call me love” if David hadn’t been sitting next to hear, eating take-out Chinese for lunch. “Yeah, well, let me know the second you hear something.”

“Nothing would delight me more,” he replied, smiling through the phone. Emma just bobbed her head in frustration as the line went dead against her ear.

She spent the rest of the day reading the most recent articles August Booth had been working on before disappearing. Killian had told her something he’d written in the last sixth months was likely the reason he’d been targeted by either the Crocodile or one of his seedy clients.

Emma learned about numerous shady New York dealings that afternoon, any of which could have led to Booth’s kidnapping. They ranged from politician sex scandals to accusations of embezzling from charities. Reputations were torn down by Booth’s narration...and Emma would hardly be surprised if they wound up finding Booth’s body tossed in the river soon. 


	12. Chapter 12

Emma rounded the corner, running down the home stretch of her usual morning route. Sweat was dripping down the back of her neck, her short breaths practically drowning out the songs playing in her ear. She reached up to swipe away a few of the half-curled strands that had fallen out of her pony-tail.

Of course, all of her momentum ground to a halt the second she saw the familiar art thief sitting at an outdoor cafe not even half a block away from her apartment. The patrons around them were lucky she was too out of breath to yell at him.

 “Ah, Swan, getting a head start on the day, are we?” he asked, one leg tucked over the other as he lounged in his seat.

“What the hell are you doing?” she snapped.

“Drinking coffee,” he replied. “I can see why you favor this place, it’s quite good.”

Emma clenched her jaw. “Did you follow me?” she growled.

“Hardly, Swan, that would be unsavory. I merely noticed the logo on your coffee sleeve yesterday morning, and they matched several in the rubbish-bin next to your desk. I figured you frequented the place and thought I’d try it myself. Glad I did.” He gave her a not so subtle once over, smirking into the lip of his drink.

“Unbelievable,” she muttered, pushing her damp hair out of her face. Whatever sort of runner’s high she’d had was entirely gone. “Just...stay here,” she said. “I’ll be back in twenty minutes.”

“Twenty? Ah, I see, you must live nearby,” he said.

“Drop the innocent act,” she said. “I’m watching your anklet, so if you take _one_ step after me I’m throwing your ass back into a cell.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, my dear Swan. I’d much rather enjoy my morning out here, watching this fine city. Rest assured, I’ll be ready to begin the moment you return.”

Emma rolled her eyes and stalked away from the coffee place, half jogging down the street. Mary Margaret was already gone for the day, for which Emma was glad. She showered quickly, the cold water soothing the heat from her run, and threw on some clothes before Killian could get distracted and wander off.

Her threat of tracking his anklet was an empty one. David was already hesitant about letting a non-cuffed Captain work with her, alerting him that the criminal was less than a block away from her apartment would only make things worse. And even if Graham was the one in charge of handling the art thief, the two agents were close enough that Emma wouldn’t risk it.

Twenty minutes later she was back on the streets. True to his word, Killian was still sitting at the table, two to-go mugs in hand. He offered one of them. “That lovely barista Ruby said this was your usual,” he said. “Also she might believe that you and I are seeing each other.”

Emma just sighed, growing used to his banter. “And you didn’t bother to correct her.”

“Would you rather me tell her that I’m your criminal informant?” he asked, following her onto the sidewalk.

“Better that than boyfriend,” she muttered.

“You wound me, Swan.”

She rolled her eyes, walking briskly through the morning foot-traffic. “We went through Booth’s most recent stories and narrowed the suspects down to five possible targets. De Vil Fashion, New York governor Cora Mills, that host from the talk-show Mean Green, Panpipe Entertainment, and Ingrid whats-her-name from those adoption scandals.”

“And apt list, Swan, but missing one key player,” he replied.

“None of them have connections to Gold,” she said, beating him to the punch.

“No, but they might have connections to the Crocodile,” he said. “And it’s entirely possible that Booth was nosing around Robert Gold’s own dealings, not anyone else’s.”

“Were any of your contacts able to dig anything up?” she asked.

“There are whispers of a new transaction taking place, but none suiting my particular talents.”

Emma frowned, looking up at him. “I thought you were just looking for information, not personal job offers.”

“You’re the one who said we needed hard evidence, Swan. It’s going to be mighty difficult finding that if I’m not directly involved,” he said.

“I’m sure I don’t have to remind you that you don’t actually have immunity,” she said. “And besides, if the Crocodile is really as powerful as you say he is, won’t he know that you’ve been working with the FBI?”

Killian shrugged. “I can always play my association with the Bureau off as a long-con,” he said. His eyes slid over to her, the corner of his mouth quirking up. “Or as a ploy to seduce the _determined_ Agent Emma Swan, in order to persuade her to stop coming after me.”

Emma felt her cheeks flush. “Pick whatever cover you want,” she said, trying and failing at sounding uninterested. “Let’s just focus on connecting Booth to the Crocodile today.”

“As you wish, Swan.”


	13. Chapter 13

Booth’s apartment had already been investigated by the police. She tried to make as little official noise about looking into his case as possible, in case Killian's suspicions about corrupt law enforcement were true. She called in a few favors in order to rummage through his belongings logged into evidence, as well as his apartment and work things.

“I believe it comes down to who had the most to lose,” Killian said, flipping through a binder of Booth’s published articles.

“Elections are coming up, so Governor Mills might be high up on the list. Those shady power grabs aren’t exactly boosting voter confidence,” she replied, sitting on Booth’s home desk as she glanced through his collected evidence box. “But I’m leaning towards De Vil. She’s got a fashion empire; it’s been tumbling down since Booth uncovered the animal cruelty involved. And she’s not exactly a level-headed CEO apparently.”

“Just the sort of person rash enough to make a deal with the devil,” Killian muttered. “Shall we pursue it?”

“Yeah, David and Graham are already digging into her recent history. Transactions, movements, phone calls, those sorts of things.”

Killian looked up from the binder. “In an official capacity?”

“Yeah, of course,” she said, meeting his eye. “Don’t worry, they’re being quiet about it.”

“The smallest pebble can cast wide ripples, Swan,” he warned.

“Poetic,” she replied, rolling her eyes. “And they’re hardly the first to look into her company. David’s making it look like they’re working the animal cruelty angle; he won’t raise any red flags about August Booth.”

The art thief snorted. “Not intentionally, anyway.”

Emma felt a flare of irritation. “He’s a great agent,” she said, defending her partner.

“But you’re better.” She was surprised at how serious his blue eyes were. No flirty smile, no innuendo… He looked back down at the binder, flipping a page. “It’s best we do this on our own, you and I.”

“David’s _not_ dirty,” she said, intentionally blunt.

“Your loyalty to your partner is admirable, Swan, truly, but the fact remains that anyone in your department could be indebted to the Crocodile. Perhaps it wasn’t for any dishonorable thing he sought out Gold’s assistance, but to ignore the possibility of-”

Emma threw the box to the side, getting to her feet and crossing the room. “David Nolan is the most trustworthy man I’ve ever known,” she seethed. “He’s been my partner for over five years and has _always_ had my back. So shut your mouth, and if you make another accusation about him, I will shut it for you.”

Killian held her gaze, no trace of playfulness in his expression. “Apologies, Swan,” he said in a careful voice. “My intention was not to offend.”

The irritation, stress, and uncertainty of the last few days were getting to her. She let out a charged breath as she went over to the window, bracing herself against the sill as she looked out into the streets below. Emma let her mind go blank as she watched the start-and-stop traffic.

“De Vil has a fashion show tonight,” she said after a few minutes of silence. “She always throws parties afterwards. If we can get in, we might be able to get some information about Booth.”

“I’ll ask around to see if she’s ever contracted with any thieves. The woman has an overly lavish lifestyle. Even with a successful clothing line my guess is she’s dipped into the criminal underworld at one time or another.”

Killian set the binder aside and strode to the door, leaving Emma in the silence of the missing journalist’s apartment. Somehow, being alone with her own thoughts was worse than Killian chattering on and on. 


	14. Chapter 14

It was easy enough to score press tickets for the show. VIP passes to the after-party were much harder to come by. It was invite-only, so she’d have to earn them on the fly. Emma had gone undercover on plenty of assignments before, and during her time as a bails-bond agent, she’d had to dress up as the part of the pretty blonde. But this time was different. Whenever she went on David’s arm for an assignment, there was no tension. But this?

She’d brought her supplies over to the FBI HQ, getting ready in the women’s bathroom instead of her apartment. There was no way she could endure Mary Margaret’s teasing before going in on the mission. Not tonight.

The fluorescent lights were less than flattering, but Emma mechanically applied her makeup, curled her hair, and squeezed into a presentable dress. She was putting in her earrings when Belle came in. “Mr. Jones has arrived,” she reported. “He’s waiting two blocks away.”

“Thanks,” Emma said, turning back to the mirror in order to situate her necklace. She hoped the pendant would draw eyes up instead of down. Had this dress always had this low a neckline? It was a simple thing; a v-neck with a gold-chain belt cinching the already form-fitting hips. She always liked the way the black accented her golden hair, but tonight she almost wished it didn’t. She wanted to blend in, not stand out. Not that she really would what with all the models and fashionistas she was likely to meet tonight...she couldn’t wait till she was swallowed up by the crowd.

“Oh, here, I’ll zip you up.” Belle fixed the back of Emma’s dressed, brushing the agent’s hair to the side.

“Everything else good?” Emma asked. Belle always dressed so nicely, it would be good to have her opinion.

Belle looked her over, jokingly tapping a finger on her chin. “Could use a bracelet,” she said after a moment.

Emma turned to the mirror, fluffing out her hair. “Bracelets get in the way. I need my hands totally free,” she said. “Just in case.”

“Ah, right,” Belle said with a nod. “And those shoes are darling, by the way.”

Emma glanced up at the clock. “Well, gotta run. Wish me luck.”

“Weren’t you telling me just last week that you made your own luck?” Belle teased.

The FBI agent smirked. “Yeah, well, I might need extra tonight. I’m taking a thief to a place that’s bound to have a lot of jewels.”

“In that case, good luck.”

Emma strode back out into the main office, ready to touch base with Graham and David before heading out. David barely even blinked, but she didn’t miss Graham’s little look. The Interpol agent glanced down and away, fiddling with a silver watch.

“Ready?” her partner asked.

She nodded, grabbing the gold clutch on her desk. She couldn’t bring a gun, not with security as tight as it would be, but that didn’t mean she was going in empty handed. The FBI had developed numerous gadgets that could pass inspection. Her lipstick tube doubled as a recording device, her compact mirror could take pictures, and the breath-mints were actually miniature tracking devices she could plant on anyone.

“Mr. Jones’ tracking anklet is too noticeable for tonight,” Graham started, handing her the electronic key. “This watch has a locator in it, so we’ll still be able to track him.” Emma took the watch and slipped it into her bag.

“We’ll be ready to move in if anything goes wrong,” David said. “Just ping us.”

She nodded again, mentally prepping herself. The second she walked out that door, she was just another fashion reporter.

“Let’s do this.”

The sun had already set by the time she left the office and walked down the street to meet up with Killian. The air was chilly, but her mind was too preoccupied to register the cold.

“I’m beginning to think that calling you the _lovely_ Agent Swan isn’t quite enough.”

All of her forward momentum, mental or otherwise, halted. Killian was leaning against the side of a building, wearing a sharp black sports jacket with a pristine white button-down shirt beneath it. Of course, the top couple buttons were undone. Emma fought for words, embarrassed to find him being dressed up so _distracting_.

The downright devilish smirk on his face made something flip in her stomach. He pushed off the wall, sauntering over. “I’ll have to expand my vocabulary,” he said, his eyes hooded. She caught the scent of his cologne and nearly wavered on her feet. “Perhaps alluring. Stunning.” Before she could stop him, or do anything other than mentally drool, he reached down and took her hand in his, lifting it to his lips. “The _enchanting_ Emma Swan.”

“We’re gonna be late,” she blurted, pulling her hand away. “Here. This watch is replacing the anklet tonight. Gimme your foot.”

“As my lady commands,” he said, resting his boot against a lamp post. Emma had to bend over to unlock the anklet, something she was acutely aware of. She didn’t even want to know where his eyes were focused. With the anklet removed, he put on the silver watch and smiled at her. “Shall we?” He extended his arm.

“You are _not_ my date,” Emma reminded him. “I’m a reporter, you’re the photographer.” He glanced down at the prop camera hanging around his neck. “Now, c’mon.” She practically threw the press pass against his chest as she hurried down the sidewalk, desperate to create space between them. Of course, with his long legs and lithe strides, it wasn’t long before he caught up. Thankfully, he didn’t say anything.


	15. Chapter 15

It wasn’t difficult to find the show; they heard it from several blocks away. It was just as gaudy as Emma imagined it’d be. There were strobe lights, a red carpet, and so many flashes from the cameras she saw afterimages for nearly ten minutes after ducking inside. The press were cobbled together, elbowing each other to get a better spot.

Half an hour later, the lights dimmed and the MC came out on stage, smiling like a game show host. Emma ignored most of his opening speech, glancing around the space to try and figure out which people to mingle with in order to score a VIP invite.

“And of course, none of us would be here on this _beautiful_ night if not for the vision, passion, and _artistry_ of this woman.” The MC motioned towards someone in the crowd. Cheering and applause sounded before Emma could peek around the tall reporter in front of her. Sitting there, waving and blowing kisses beneath the spotlight, was Ms. De Vil, draped in a heavy fur coat. Even from such a great distance, and with the sheer amount of people in the room, the fashion icon commanded all attention. It probably helped that she had striking black and white hair.

As the first models took to the stage, the rapid-fire clicks of cameras and whispers into recorders was almost as deafening as the music blaring. Emma scribbled on a pad, half-playing the part of reporter, half jotting down notes for later. Behind her, Killian was snapping photos like all the others.

What seemed like hours later, they brought back the most prominent pieces for an encore. With the show finished, the lights came up and people abandoned their hard-fought-for spots in order to celebrate with champagne and mingle with fellow reporters.

“We should probably cozy up to…” Emma felt a flash of dread; Killian had vanished. She peered through the crowd, looking for the familiar black-haired head of the art theif. If he pocketed someone’s priceless diamond necklace or…

“Ms. Swan.” She turned and saw him standing there with two flutes of champagne. She was too irritated with his brief disappearance to chastise his bedroom eyes.

“We’re on duty,” she reminded him, refusing the drink.

“We’re supposed to be blending in,” he countered. “Play the part.”

She rolled her eyes as she took the drink, taking a tiny sip just to shut him up. “We need to mingle,” she said, switching back to business. “If we don’t get invites, this whole night’s a bust.”

“I wouldn’t say that.” His eyes admired her dress for a moment, quirking a brow as she struggled not to do the same to him. _Why_ did he have to be so difficult? Things would’ve been a hell of a lot easier if someone like Will Scarlet or Robin from the Merry Men gang had given her this info...not the damn Captain.

“As difficult as it will be, I’ll divert my attention to the task at hand,” he said, dipping his head. “Though I wonder...which of us might win first? Care to wager?”

“No,” Emma said point-blank.

“Oh come now, Swan. You could charm the invites out of any one of these men with a smile alone. You might give me a run for my money,” he said, flashing a smile of his own.

“Then keep your money. Just get the invites.”

“As you wish.”

Emma couldn’t tell if that irritated her or...charmed her. Regardless, he disappeared into the crowd before she could respond. She milled around, bouncing from group to group, laughing at jokes, gushing about the dresses, giggling about how cute the butts of the male models were. She thought she was making headway with a fashion magazine editor when the crowd started to thin.

“Everyone’s going home so soon?” she asked.

“Oh no way, the night’s still young!” the editor said with a laugh. Emma hoped for the girl to say something about the after-party, but her attention was drawn away by some famous designer or another.

Emma swore under her breath, biting the inside of her cheek as she thought.

“ _I win_.”

Her entire body shuddered at the sudden deep voice whispering in her ear. She felt the heat of his breath on her bare neck. Her head reeled as she turned around, seeing Killian victorious with two invitations in hand.

“Compliments of Ms. De Vil,” he said, presenting her with one.

Emma gave a start. “You got them from _her_? We’re supposed to be _sneaky_!”

He shrugged. “Sometimes honesty really is the best policy. I told her who I was and offered to... _acquire_ something for her, for a nominal fee of course.”

“She’s seen your face _and_ knows you’re the Captain?” She lowered her voice, but not the amount of panic in it.

“Will you just trust me on this?” he asked.

She shook her head. “Absolutely not. I don’t trust you on _anything_.”

Now he rolled his eyes. “My contacts discovered that Ms. De Vil is _quite_ active on the black market. Two unfamiliar guests attending one of her private parties might be just a tad suspicious when the FBI are beginning to look into her affairs. But if a well-known _criminal_ was to attend, well the date on his arm couldn’t _possibly_ be FBI. I’m giving us a cover. You should know by now that I’m not reckless.”

Emma fished for words, astounded at his brazen actions. “You’re _impossible_!” she hissed. “Next time you run your crazy plans by me, got it?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said, giving a mock salute.

With invitations in hand, they left the still crowded space, going out into the night. The cool air and relative quiet was a welcome reprieve. They walked several blocks before Emma paused to give David and Graham an update.

“How’re you doing, Emma?” David asked once their business had been covered.

“Fine,” she said.

“Oh Jesus, what did he do?”

Emma scoffed. “I just said I was _fine_.”

“Yeah, which means you aren’t,” her partner replied. “Did he try to pull something? I _knew_ this was a mistake…”

“He hasn’t done anything,” she said. Killian’s head perked up, suddenly curious. She ignored him. “He’s just being his usual annoying self.”

“Just be careful, Emma,” David said with a sigh. “And don’t trust him for a second.”

“I’ll check in with you later.” She hung up and slipped the phone back into her purse. “Let’s get going.”

“Certainly, however,” he said, getting in front of her. “This time, _I_ lead.”

Emma scoffed. “Not a chance.”

He smirked, taking half a step closer. “You’re about to step into _my_ world, Swan. Lucky for you, I’m one hell of a dance partner.”


	16. Chapter 16

The last time Emma had been in a presidential suite, she was a bail-bonds agent, hunting down a renegade millionaire. Now she was the Captain’s latest flavor of the week, attending a high-profile party.

They showed their invitations at the door and were given no trouble. Upon entering the suite, they were given hot towels and more champagne. The entire upper floor of New York’s most expensive hotel was hers, and she was every bit as lavish as the rumors said it’d be.

People were laughing, chatting, dancing, and boozing. Emma felt a bit lackluster with only her little black dress. Some of these people looked ready for the Oscars or something. “None of them can hold a candle to you, darling,” Killian whispered in her ear.

A less than eloquent “w-what?” tumbled out of her mouth. He smirked, one arm slinging around her waist. “What? A man is expected to compliment his date.” She flushed again, wishing she could punch the smile off his smug stupid face. “And though I may be keeping up appearances, love...I mean every word.” Her heart skipped a beat as he kissed her hand.

She could finally breathe again when he looked away from her, scanning the crowd. “I ought to say hello again,” he said. “Let her know I’m here. Meanwhile, I imagine eavesdropping should lead to some interesting discoveries. Later we can snoop around for clues as to Mr. Booth’s whereabouts.”  

“Right,” she replied breathlessly, shaking herself back into focus. He whisked away, meandering through the crowd and towards the black-and-white haired icon. De Vil seemed delighted to see him again. Even from more than half the room away, Emma could hear her cry of “ _Darling_!” She kissed him on both cheeks in greeting.

Eavesdropping on the myriad of conversations proved to be interesting, but not useful. Most people were talking about the show or recent scandals in the news. Emma thought she saw a handful of celebrities walking around, but she didn’t bother seeking them out.

Several minutes later, Killian returned. “Give them all awhile till they’re properly inebriated. De Vil’s muscle will undoubtedly have their hands full with someone a little too familiar with the open bar.”

Emma had mapped out the location of every security man De Vil hired to protect her suite. Killian’s plan was a solid one, she couldn’t deny it, but it meant waiting even longer. Their opportunity came and hour later when some husband accused another man of hitting on his wife. The disturbance was loud enough to draw away the bouncers guarding the hall to De Vil’s private residence.

The bedroom was enormous, with floor to ceiling windows that overlooked the city. They didn’t dare flip on the lights as they searched, using the lights from surrounding buildings to look for clues. Finding nothing of consequence, they moved to the next room, the study.

It was more of a studio than a study. Sketches of accessories, dresses, and outfits wallpapered the room. Emma made a beeline for the computer but there was nothing on it except emails to designers and research on latest trends.

Killian was poring through sketchbooks and fabric swatches while Emma scoured the room for anything else. She was rummaging through the desk when she found a false panel at the back of one of the drawers. Frowning in concentration, the agent slipped the panel aside and pulled out a jewelry box.

Inside was a newspaper clipping. It must’ve been crumpled into a ball at some point before being flattened again and folded. Angry red marks X’d out the headline and a picture of her. A name was circled and scribbled over in the same fashion, but Emma knew what it said: _August Booth_.

“Hey, look at this,” she said, not looking up from the article.

“You know, I don’t think you’ve once called me by my name,” he mused, abandoning the design book. He peered at the clipping over her shoulder. “I’d say we’re on the right track.”

Emma set the paper aside and rooted through the rest of the box. There were pictures of exotic animals in cages with little hearts and prices drawn next to them. At the bottom was a business card with a black symbol and no name. Killian took it from her.

“That’s his mark,” he said. She noted his clenched jaw and frown. “I think it’s meant to be a reptile’s eye, or some such nonsense.”

The mark was three slashes forming a sideways triangle, with a fourth slash through the middle. Emma flipped the card over; there was a time written down in De Vil’s handwriting. It was the first bit of good news she’d gotten all night. A smile spread across her lips despite herself.

“So Ms. De Vil ordered the silence of our friend August Booth,” Killian mused, glancing at the card.

“Seems like it,” Emma replied, snapping a picture of the card with her compact-camera. “But we need more before we can convict her of anything. And the symbol only implicates the Crocodile, not Robert Gold.”

Killian sighed, clearly frustrated. But now wasn’t the time to ask why. They had to get out of there and return the evidence to the FBI as soon as they could. They worked quickly and quietly, piecing the room back together as they found it. The pulse of the music was still pounding through the walls; Emma guessed the party would go on for several more hours.

They peeked down the hallway, waiting for an opportunity to sneak out. “C’mon,” she whispered. With their attention focused on the party ahead of them, neither expected the guard to come from behind.

Before she really knew what was happening, Emma found herself pinned up against the wall and Killian’s lips crashing down on hers. Her eyes flared open in surprise for a second, but when she spotted the guard, she threw herself into the facade.

She wrapped her arms around his neck, her fingers snaking through his hair. His own hands trailed down her sides, resting on her hips as he pushed himself against her. She felt her breasts brush against his chest, her leg between his.

Each kiss grew deeper than the last, hungrier, faster. Her breath hitched when his lips trailed down her neck, his hands dipping lower as well, following the swell of her ass. The groan he let out against her throat sent a jolt of electricity straight through her.

The guard cleared his throat, dragging everything back to reality. Emma had to blink several times before seeing clearly, but her breath never quite recovered. “D’you mind, mate?” Killian asked, barely turning his head towards the bouncer. His voice was low, rough, husky with need that sounded less than pretend.

“Can’t be here,” the bald man said. “Take it somewhere else.”

“Oh I plan to,” Killian said, smirking as he stole another kiss. “I think we got a little carried away, love,” he said, pulling her close again. “What say you we find a more suitable venue?”

Emma smiled slowly, playing the part. Her hands trailed down his chest, tugging on the lapels of his jacket. “Can’t wait,” she purred. Emma felt a ridiculous amount of petty enjoyment that came from Killian’s look of surprise. All the same, he composed himself quickly and nodded towards the bouncer. The hired muscle returned the nod of approval as they moved away.

He practically propelled her out of the suite, standing more than close in the elevator. As soon as the doors closed, he swooped in again, locking her into the corner as his lips worked against hers. With so many cameras around, they’d have to keep up the act until they were clear of the damn hotel. Her head was spinning by the time they reached the first floor.

She cleared her throat as the doors opened, noting the smear of lipstick on his cheek. Her stomach dropped at the sight his hair, messy yet alarmingly attractive. His expression was downright incorrigible. They exited the elevator and crossed the lobby, still practically tangled together.

Still under the eyes of De Vil’s men at the entrance, they moved towards the alley, unable to keep their hands off each other. Emma giggled between kisses; Killian smiled against her neck. Once free of sight, Emma sighed.

“If you want to go home with that hand, get it off my ass.”

Killian did as she asked, stepping away from the agent and making a show of his hands in the air. She turned away, resting her hands on her hips as she caught her breath. What in the _hell_ just happened?

“We should, um, head back to HQ,” she said.

Killian swiped his thumb across his bottom lip. “That was _quite_ the display, Swan,” he said. “I’d almost say you might’ve _enjoyed_ our ruse.”

“It’s not my first undercover assignment,” she shot back. “I’m a good actress.”

His smile said that he knew she was lying, but she didn’t give him the satisfaction of defending herself beyond that. They hailed a taxi and rode back to the FBI office in charged silence. He shifted every once in a while in his seat, concentrating on the passing buildings and lights. Emma couldn’t get over the sight of him looking bewildered for a change. Just for one second, _she_ was the one who surprised _him_.


	17. Chapter 17

The next day was horrible. The De Vil party had given Killian enough ammo to make himself twice as irritating as usual. She was just glad he didn’t parade anything around David or Graham in the brief moments where they’d been around to reattach his tracking anklet.

Graham and David worked at researching the symbol on the card, and looking through newsreels for any significant events happening during the time indicated in De Vil’s handwriting. The only significant thing was that 24 hours later August Booth went missing.

They were milling around the newspaper office Booth worked for, trying to piece together where Booth had been taken from, when Emma noticed they had a tail. “We’re being followed,” she said to him, pretending nothing was amiss. She glanced up at the building, tapping her foot on the pavement.

“Where?” he asked.

“Nine o’clock.”

He didn’t make himself obvious as he looked, but he swore all the same. “It’s one of De Vil’s men. Saw him last night. Well, on the bright side it likely means we’re on the right path. On the other hand, we might be joining Mr. Booth very soon.”

“I don’t understand…” Emma whispered, frowning. “We closed the rest of the team out…”

“Who knows about what we found last night?” Killian asked.

“Just Graham, David, and Spencer.”

“Well clearly _something_ leaked,” he mused. “We need to move.”

Sure enough, as they started walking the hired muscle did too. “Split up,” Emma said after a few minutes.

“ _What_?”

“There are two possibilities,” she said, already planning escape routes. “Either De Vil got spooked by the Captain being where he shouldn’t last night, or she figured out who _I_ am.”

His jaw clenched, his lips pressing into a thin line. “If they follow me, the woman’s probably just worried the Captain stole something of hers last night…but if they follow you then someone within your taskforce is most definitely working for the Crocodile.”

“Not gonna lie, I _really_ hope they follow you,” she said.

“For your sake, I hope they do too,” he replied. “At the very least, I’m adept at disappearing. Not that it will matter if the people tracking my every movement are corrupt.”

Frustration and dread weighed Emma’s shoulders down. “Let’s just see what happens, ok?” She glanced behind her, noticing the tail was gaining on them.

“We ought to make this look real,” he said. “Like we’re parting ways on purpose.”

“Right,” Emma agreed. She paused on the street corner, pulling out her phone and pretending to read a text. “Keep your phone close,” she ordered. “We might be splitting up, but we’re _not_ breaking contact.”

His lips quirked up. “Hate to be parted from me for even a moment, Swan?” he teased. For once, his teasing didn’t irritate her. He seemed a little surprised when she laughed.

“You wish. Now let’s go.”

When the light changed, Emma crossed the street with the other pedestrians while Killian continued up the sidewalk. It was difficult to check and see if their pursuer was behind her while she was jostled around by the crowd. She traveled further up the block, passing street vendors, musicians playing for coins, tour groups.

The agent paused at a storefront, pretending to admire the dresses worn by the mannequins. She used the slight reflection off the glass to check behind her. “ _Shit_.” A wave of nausea rolled through her as she spotted the guard making his way towards her.

Emma felt almost dizzy. There _had_ to be another explanation. She refused to believe that anyone she was working with was corrupt. She’d known David, Graham, and Spencer for years! David was her faithful partner; a man who always had her back no matter what. Sure, she hadn’t seen Graham in a while, but he was as loyal as he was kind. And Spencer might be a hardass, but he was all about order and discipline. She couldn’t imagine any one of them selling them all out to a criminal mastermind. It had to be something else. _Someone_ else.

But if it wasn’t…

Emma punched the buttons on her phone and raised it to her ear, picking up her speed. He answered on the second ring. “Hate to say I told you so.”

“ _Not_ now,” she snapped. “Where are you?”

“I should ask _you_ that. You’ve been compromised, Agent Swan. We need to get you somewhere safe.”

“What we _need_ to do is confirm it,” she replied. “I’m not going off radar without knowing _for certain_ who’s dirty.”

“Bloody hell, woman,” he muttered. “I’m sure I don’t need to tell you stories of the Crocodile’s ruthlessness. If he suspects you’re on his trail, he will not hesitate to eliminate you as a threat. He’ll use any tactic, any dirty trick to ensure his own wellbeing.”

Emma nearly tripped. “Mary Margaret,” she whispered.

“Pardon?”

“M-my roommate. If…” She couldn’t believe she was about to say this, “ _if_ David is working for the Crocodile…he knows that he can…threaten…oh God…”

Emma’s world spun around her. Each shallow breath wasn’t enough to ease the racing of her heart. A flare of protective anger surged though her, solidifying everything with frightening clarity. She squared her shoulders and strode forward, her expression hardening into a frown of concentration. “I need you to do something for me. I need you to get to Mary Margaret. Keep her safe.”

“Of course, but isn’t she _seeing_ Agent Nolan? She’s more likely to call for his aid than trust the word of a criminal,” he said.

“Tell her to bake an apple pie,” Emma said, crossing the street again. “It’s our code; it means something’s wrong.”

“Do you think it will be enough?” he asked.

Emma shook her head, breathing heavy in frustration. “It’ll have to be. I can’t risk her getting hurt. I’ll never forgive myself.”

“Of course, Swan,” he said. “Keep me informed, if you can.”

She waited a few beats, glancing over her shoulder at the guard who was several feet closer now. “Wow, a whole conversation without flirting or quips? That’s a first.”

“If it makes you feel better, I can mention how I got a poor night’s rest because visions of you in that fetching dress haunted my dreams.”

Emma stifled a small laugh. “Right, well, gotta run. I have a feeling it won’t be easy to shake this guy.”

“I’d wish you luck, my darling Swan, but we both know you can handle yourself.”

“Storybrooke St, Misthaven Apartments, number 28. _Go_!”

Emma slipped her phone back into her pocket, feeling a cold wash of determination settle over her. It wasn’t the first time someone followed her. She knew how to lose a tail. But worry over Mary Margaret was distracting, as was the thought that David or Graham might be…

She shook herself. _Can’t think about that now. Focus_.

...

It was dark by the time she trudged up the stairs to her apartment. Her whole body ached from the tension that’d been coursing through it all day. She spent hours trying to dodge the De Vil muscle, and managed to give him the slip by cutting through a shopping center and losing him in the tightly packed crowds and stores.

She’d spent another two hours ensuring she wasn’t being followed before she dared get anywhere close to home. Emma dug her keys out of her pocket and unlocked the door, throwing it open and hurrying inside.

“Mary Margaret?” she called.

“ _Emma_!”

The agent was nearly thrown off her feet by the force of the school teacher’s hug. Every muscle in her body relaxed in intense relief. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine…I think. God, what the _hell_ is happening?” Mary Margaret cried, her eyes wide and fearful. “He wouldn’t tell me anything!”

Emma looked up and saw Killian standing in the living room, his eyes hard to read. They exchanged looks. She just nodded and was surprised to see his jaw unclench. Emma turned back to her worried roommate. “It’s…complicated,” she started. “Our case…”

How could she even begin to explain? How could she tell her best friend that David might be corrupt? Emma sighed. “We don’t know what’s going on, but there’s a possibility someone might try to hurt you in order to get to me.”

Mary Margaret blinked, her eyes filling with tears. She shook her head. “I don’t… _why_ can’t I call David?”

Emma glanced at Killian again, who’d come to the threshold of the kitchen. “What did he tell you?” she asked, nodding towards the art thief.

“That you sent him here to keep me safe…I didn’t believe him at first, of course, but then he said the apple pie code so I let him in…” Emma swallowed, unsure how much of the truth she should explain. Mary Margaret’s face sobered. Her nervous energy stilled. “Are you ok, Emma? He said someone was following you…”

Emma forced a small smile. “I’m fine,” she said. “I lost him, but we’ve definitely ruffled some feathers.”

“Or furs, as it may be,” Killian muttered.

Mary Margaret frowned in confusion. She shook herself before facing Emma again. “Can I get you anything? I know you’ve had a hell of a day.”

Emma sighed, rubbing the back of her neck. “I just need to sit for a second.” The FBI agent ambled over to the living room and flopped onto the armchair, resting the back of her head on the cushion. For a few moments she closed her eyes and let the plush seat absorb the tension in her muscles. She rubbed her hands against her face, pushing back her hair.

She didn’t want to think anymore. Thinking led to speculation. Speculation led to paranoia. They _didn’t_ know what was happening yet, not really. But it didn’t matter. If she made one wrong move, trusted the wrong person, didn’t react the right way in time…

“She’s a spirited one, your friend,” Killian said.

Emma opened her eyes and saw the art thief leaning over the back of the couch, his hands braced against the spine. “Yeah, she’s one of a kind.”

Killian glanced up beyond her, looking into the kitchen. He sniffed. “Is that…chocolate?”

Emma laughed. “She always makes me cocoa when I’ve had a bad day,” she said, rolling her neck around.

“Have a sweet tooth, do you, Agent Swan?” he teased.

“I’m too tired to think of a comeback,” she admitted.

“In that case, remind me to be exceptionally witty when you’re exhausted.”

He wasn’t looking at her, but instead staring at nothing. She could practically see the gears in his head turning, but she had no idea what he was thinking of. Emma gathered her strength and rolled to her feet, stretching before walking over to the art thief. He barely moved until he realized she was standing right in front of him.

“Listen,” she said, “even if I was getting worried over nothing…you came and made sure she was ok. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate that.”

He looked like he wanted to make a joke for a second, but swallowed the quip back down. “You’re certainly welcome, Agent Swan. I realize your friend’s importance to you and thus the… _gravity_ of what you asked of me.”

Everything was so surreal. The only thing separating her from the man she’d chased for three years was her own couch.

“Thank you, Killian.”

He stiffened a little in surprise, but a dumbstruck smile soon lifted on his lips. He dipped his head, looking modest for the first time since she’d met him.

“Emma? I have your-”

But Mary Margaret was cut off as the front door was kicked open and Agent David Nolan stormed in with his gun raised.


	18. Chapter 18

Emma whipped her gun out, training it on her partner. David looked utterly bewildered, but his brows were drawn into a sharp frown as he saw Killian.

“Drop your gun, David!” she snapped.

“What the hell is going on?” he snarled, his pistol aimed directly at the art thief.

“Drop your gun, _now_!”

David’s eyes were blazing. “Not until you tell me what _he’s_ doing here!”

“Lower your goddamned gun!”

David tore his eyes from the thief and stared at his partner, not bothering to hide the hurt, confusion, or betrayal. “What are you _doing_? _He’s_ the criminal!”

Emma licked her lips, thinking hard. She readjusted her footing. “Someone’s a traitor,” she said, her voice low. “Someone’s been leaking information about our investigation into the Crocodile. They sent men after me today.”

David’s face went slack as his jaw fell open. “You…you don’t think _I_ did it!”

“I _really_ want to trust you, David, but that’s kind of hard to do when you have a gun in hand.”

He held her gaze for half a minute before raising his hands and placing his gun on the floor. Emma let out a charged breath and holstered her own gun, picking up the second and tucking it into the waistband of her pants.

“Now will you please tell me what _he_ is doing here?” David growled, jabbing a finger at Killian. “When you didn’t report in, I checked on his anklet and saw he was _here_.”

“H-he came to make sure I was ok,” Mary Margaret said, her eyes wide. “Emma sent him to protect me.”

“You _what_?!” David rounded on his partner, fury coursing through every movement.

“Someone was after us, David,” Emma growled. “Someone from the agency. I had to make sure Mary Margaret was safe.”

“So you send a goddamned _criminal_?”

“I didn’t have a choice! I didn’t know who else to trust!”

“You trust your _partner_!” David cried. “But instead you trusted _him_ with my _girlfriend_?”

“Ok, just _shut up_ for a second!” Emma shouted, her head spinning. She rubbed her temples, thinking hard. David was practically shaking, but he said nothing. After a moment or two, she strode over to him, staring him in the eye. “Tell me you’re not working for the Crocodile,” she said.

David was too shocked by the accusation to even be offended. He almost staggered back beneath her intense gaze. “Of _course_ I’m not working for the Crocodile!” he snapped. “How could you even _think_ …” David trailed off in frustration, his eyes landing on the thief. “What kind of bullshit is he putting in your head, Emma? You _know_ me!”

Emma’s uncanny ability to tell when people were lying hadn’t failed her yet, and David wasn’t lying. She let out a charged breath and pushed her hair out of her face. “Ok,” she said, her voice reserved. “I’m sorry…it’s just been…it’s been a rough couple of days.”

David’s tension eased a little, his shoulders lowering. “I could _help_ you if you didn’t keep shutting me out,” he said, his own voice quieter as well. “We’re supposed to be in this together.”

Emma nodded, looking miserable. God, she was tired. “You’re right,” she admitted. “Everything in this case has been wrong…”

Silence hung in the air like heavy humidity, weighing everything down. David sighed, rubbing his eyes. “What’s our play?” he asked. “If you’re right…if someone on our team is working for the Crocodile…”

“Then we can’t make it obvious that we know,” Emma finished. “We have to figure out who it is without tripping the alarm.”

“And try to take De Vil down in the process,” David muttered. “Not to mention find Booth.”

“If it’s wishing to avoid tripping alarms, I’m your man,” Killian said, flashing his first smile of the night.

“This is internal FBI business,” David half-growled, “what would a thief know about working inside the law?”

Killian quirked a brow, irritated but not intimidated by David’s bristling posture. “It may come as a surprise to you, mate, but I’m quite adept at giving lawmen the slip. Much of that skill I can thank to research and getting to know my adversary.” His eyes slid to Emma, making David give a start.

“Do you have a plan or are you just talking?” she asked.

“You’ve already determined that the Crocodile’s lackey is one within your immediate team. I propose you feed each of them false information. Whichever is beneath Gold’s thumb will act upon their individual reports and you’ll know who the leak is. From there I imagine it would be easier to follow their corruption back to the Crocodile, and thus to Robert Gold.”

Emma and David exchanged a look, silently communicating. It was a good plan, Emma had to admit. As good as any they had. Without August Booth, it would be practically impossible to link De Vil to his kidnapping. But if they could discover the mole…

“What should we tell them?” she asked.

Killian thought for a moment, drumming his fingers on his grizzled chin. “It would have to be something alarming enough to spur them to action. Something they would run off to the Crocodile to report.”

Emma braced herself against the island, staring at nothing. Could Graham really be a traitor? Supervisor Spencer? Both were men of the law…men she trusted. Was she really about to test their loyalty?

“We could say we found Booth,” David suggested. “And that he’s willing to testify about what happened to him.”

“Good,” Emma said, “but if Booth’s dead or the Crocodile has him captive, it’d be easy for the mole to check in on that. It has to be something they wouldn’t have immediate knowledge about.”

David scratched the back of his neck. Killian shifted his weight, glancing up at the ceiling. “What about De Vil?” Mary Margaret asked. Everyone turned to her, having temporarily forgot the quiet teacher was even in the room. “Her fashion empire’s on the brink of collapse, right? Because of Booth’s article?”

“Yeah…?” Emma said, crossing her arms.

Mary Margaret licked her lips, clearly deep in thought. “Well, if she went to the Crocodile to get rid of Booth she might’ve thought that her company would bounce back, but it _hasn’t_. And if the FBI is investigating her now, she’s caught between financial ruin or jail-time.”

“I doubt a woman of her taste would fancy orange jumpsuits,” Killian mused.

“But she might try to make a _deal_ ,” Emma said, her eyes lighting up. Mary Margaret beamed and nodded. “If we say that De Vil came forward to volunteer info, that would definitely get our dirty agent to run back to the Crocodile.”

“Excellent, but what do you tell each candidate?” Killian asked.

“We tell Graham that De Vil will only meet at a certain time and place within the city. Same with Spencer, but different time, different place,” David suggested.

“It might work,” Killian said, tilting his head in consideration. “And it’s well known that the Crocodile prides himself on the validity of information. I very much doubt his lackey will go to him without personally confirming the truth for themselves. I can post lookouts at each of the locations to determine which appears at their respective locations.”

“Hold on,” David said, raising a hand. “If we do this, it has to be with _FBI_ lookouts. We need _lawful_ proof that either Graham or Spencer is crooked. Nobody’s going to believe the testimony of a criminal.”

Killian snorted. “If you utilize Bureau resources, your supervisor is certain to hear of it. You can file reports of your own later on if you wish to abide by red tape rules. The important thing is to discover you can or cannot trust.”

“Look, we’re doing this _our_ way!” David snapped.

“ _Your_ way,” Killian said, his voice thick with disgust, “has put your partner _and_ your lady in danger. If you want to defeat Robert Gold, you need to play by a different set of rules.”

Emma stepped between the men before either could do anything more than glare daggers at each other. “We’ll do both,” she said. “Killian’s men, _our_ equipment. I still have some of the gear from the party – trackers, bugs, cameras… We can have them on us, too, since we’ll have to be at each place in order to make it seem legit.”

David clearly wasn’t happy with the plan. He rested his hands on his hips, his lower jaw jutting out a little. Mary Margaret placed a hand on his tense shoulder. “I don’t like it,” he admitted, “but I like having a dirty agent in our team even less. Let’s do it.”


	19. Chapter 19

Everything ached. Her muscles felt like she’d been run through tactical training all over again. But worse than the pulsing soreness in every single limb, was the splitting headache at the back of her skull.

Emma groaned, squeezing her eyes tight and gritting her teeth at the pain. “Awake at last, huh?” an unfamiliar voice said.

Emma forced herself up, resting on her hands and knees while the world tilted and spun around her. She tried to shake herself awake, but ended up nearly collapsing again as a wave of nausea swam through her.

“Easy,” the voice said. “You got a nasty bump on your head…probably got Tased too.”

“Where am I?” she mumbled, trying to right herself. Emma managed to get her legs beneath her and sit against a cement wall. She could feel her heartbeat pounding in every fingertip, every toe, every tooth, and all throughout her head. She rubbed the sore spot, hissing as a sharp sting flared. Her fingers came back red.

“Hell if I know,” the man replied, sighing. “Been here for a week. They dumped you here last night.”

Emma forced herself to open her eyes; her blurry vision took more than a few seconds to focus. A man with slightly curled brown hair and a beard sat in front of her, illuminated by one bare bulb. Glancing around the room, Emma noticed it was done up to look somewhat homey. There was a rug, a fully furnished desk, a bed with plenty of blankets, a large mirror, and a shelf of books, but none of it distracted from the fact that they were in a cement box with no windows.

It took a second for mind to gain traction, like a computer after a forced reboot. “You’re August Booth,” she said.

His blue eyes widened. “Yeah…how’d you know?”

“Emma Swan,” she said. “FBI. I was looking into your disappearance.”

Booth snorted. “Well, congrats, Agent Swan, you found me.” She grunted, readjusting her position on the cold ground. “Can I assume this wasn’t part of the plan?”

“Safe assumption,” she replied, pushing her hair out of her face. “Can you tell me what happened to you? Who put you here?”

Booth sighed, getting up and pouring himself a glass of water from a pitcher. He paused, poured another, and handed it to the agent before sitting on the edge of his bed. Emma got up and stretched, swallowing her groans of pain, and took the office chair by the desk.

“Not sure who ordered ‘the hit’,” he said, using air quotes, “but whoever it was isn’t really important anymore. What matters is who’s _keeping_ me here.”

“The Crocodile,” she said.

Booth stiffened, his eyes draining of the dry sarcasm he’d shown earlier. Emma thought he saw him swallow. “Yeah,” he said, “I’d heard the name more than a few times while researching my stories…but I was too swamped with other exposes to go after him myself. I was _planning_ to, of course, but…” he trailed off, shaking his head. “I knew this was a dangerous gig, but I never expected to be held hostage by the head of a criminal syndicate.”

Emma frowned, trying to piece everything together. “But why keep you here? What does he want with you?”

Booth snorted, looking at his haggard reflection in the mirror. “The Crocodile is a chess player, thinking several moves ahead before he even moves one pawn. Somebody wanted my silence, but the Croc must’ve figured I was more valuable to him alive. Having a prominent journalist in your pocket is an asset, after all.” Booth sighed, dropping his gaze and staring down at his feet. “He offered me an ultimatum: work for him or die.”

Emma eyes went wide. “You’ve seen him, then? You’ve met the Crocodile?”

Booth nodded but refused to look at her. “Charming guy, that Robert Gold. He didn’t really say the _die_ part outright. It was more along the lines of ‘I’d love to have a man with your talents in my employ, but if you’d rather not accept my offer, I’ll understand. You can remain here as my _guest_ for the foreseeable future.’”

Emma’s heart and mind were racing. “So it _is_ Robert Gold…” She licked her dry lips, already formulating a plan. “Booth, when we get out of here, would you testify?”

“ _What_?” The journalist went ramrod stiff again. “How the hell are we gonna get out of here?”

“Would you testify against Robert Gold?” she repeated.

He stammered for a few seconds. “I mean, I’d probably get a bullet in my head for my efforts, but yeah. Sure. Anything for a good story and the truth.”

Emma stood up, ignoring the aches and tension. Her jacket had been taken from her, as well as her belt, cell phone, and gun. She ran her hands over her jean pockets, finding them empty of anything. Booth watched each movement with confusion and doubt. He gave a start when she reached down her shirt.

“What are you - ?” He was silenced when she pulled out something small and white.

Emma wiggled the tracking device disguised as a mint in her fingers. “A girl’s gotta get creative when lady-wear barely has any pockets.”

“What is that?” Booth asked, narrowing his eyes.

“A tracker,” she replied, smiling despite herself. “And our ticket out of here. My partners are already out there looking for me, but this will lead them straight to us.”

“Unless they got taken too,” Booth muttered.

Emma shook her head, refusing to let her flare of hope be dampened by the journalist. “They weren’t with me. We split up to figure out who betrayed us to the Crocodile.”

“And that would be?”

Emma looked up. “Supervisor Albert Spencer. My boss.” With that, she activated the tracker.


	20. Chapter 20

There was nothing Emma Swan hated more than waiting. She spent her time pacing the room, switching between doing sit-ups or push-ups, and learning all that she could about the Crocodile from what Booth knew. She told him that it was De Vil who ordered his hit; he was hardly surprised.

Emma plotted potential escape routes in case David couldn’t track her for some reason, but the only way out of the cement room was through the metal door that locked from the outside. At first she thought she could ambush whoever brought them food and water, but the trays were slid beneath a tiny slot that also locked.

She was in the middle of making a half-hearted deal with Booth -- he wanted exclusive rights to the Crocodile story and an interview with her when it was all over -- when the door slid open with an ear-splitting metallic groan. Emma was on her feet in a second. An intimidating, thickly built man stood in the doorway, his eyes cold and hard.

“Come with me,” he said, no hint of emotion in his voice. Emma and Booth exchanged glances; the agent tried to appear neutral. The choice was an easy one to make. Something told her that even if she refused, the hulking man would make her go. And regardless, she was going stir-crazy in their cell, and this was a chance to learn more about their captor.

Booth said nothing as Emma followed the muscle out. The corridor was uninviting, made of cement just like the room. Two more thugs waited just outside, making her half-baked escape plans seem all the more pointless. She was good in a fight, but three against one in a cramped space?

They led her upstairs and into an abandoned underground parking lot. The yellow lines marking each spot were scraped and faded, and the pillars holding the ceiling up were chipped with age. The weak lights struggling to illuminate anything cast the whole area in a sickly glow. But even in the dimness, Emma could recognize the figure standing in the middle of it all.

He wore a long coat, a scarf draped over his shoulders, and a cane in his black-gloved hands. Killian had been right after all. Robert Gold, CEO of Gold Standard Financial, was the Crocodile. She almost laughed.

“Agent Emma Swan,” he said, tapping the palm of his hand on the head of his cane. “Your tenacity, though impressive, has caused me a bit of grief, I’m afraid.”

“Do you want me to apologize?” she asked.

Gold smile raised hairs on the back of her neck. “Of course not, dearie. You were merely doing your job. And well.”

“What do you want from me, Gold?” she asked, cutting to the chase. “Why not kill me and be done with it?”

He tutted with his tongue. “Because, Ms. Swan, killing you outright would lead to more trouble than I care to clean up. I don’t often enjoy things getting so messy. No, I’m here to offer you a deal.”

Emma narrowed her eyes, anger and disgust replacing the careful calm she meant to maintain. “My life in exchange for my silence, is that it?”

“Oh I could offer you much more than just your life, Ms. Swan. You’ll find that working for me is quite lucrative. I like to create partnerships where I can, and I look after my friends. Take Mr. Albert Spencer for example. He lets me know when his people beginning taking too close a look at my affairs, and I give him insider knowledge into the stock market.” He paused for a second, adjusting his posture. “I must confess I’m curious, Ms. Swan, about how you came to realize his alliance with me.”

“We knew someone in our team was dirty, we set up a sting. Spencer came running when he thought one of your underlings was ready to make a deal,” she said. Emma figured the truth might buy her a little good will. Gold said he didn’t want to kill her, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t. She tried to reign in her hatred of him so she could focus on making a plan.

“Ah, well played, Ms. Swan. I could use someone with your skills. A partnership with me could be greatly beneficial. What is it you desire, Ms. Swan? A promotion? Higher pay? To be free of your debts?”

Emma had to take several breaths before choosing her words carefully. “What I want is to not be locked up in a cell anymore.”

“Once we agree upon a contract, I’ll be more than happy to reimburse you for your time here, Ms. Swan,” he said, resting both hands on the cane.

“And if I say no?” she challenged.

“I’m a persuasive man,” he said, his lips curling up into a sickening smile. “And a patient one. I can wait for you to change your mind.”

Emma felt a tingle of apprehension slide under her skin. “Like your waiting for August Booth to change his,” she said. “You’re keeping him locked up until you get him under your thumb.”

“It makes the most strategic sense, does it not? An intrepid reporter is of much more value to me alive than dead. And as I’m well connected, I’m privy to many interesting stories that can make Booth a very wealthy man indeed.”

Emma shook her head. “So that’s how you do it. You either buy people’s loyalty or give them an impossible ultimatum. Join or die.”

“Ms. Swan, please, it’s not so dramatic as that. Or sinister. I’m merely a broker of favors and information, not some Bond villain with a doomsday device,” he said, chuckling to himself.

She took half a step closer, jabbing a finger at him. “You’re a heartless manipulator,” she growled. Two of the muscle men moved in, but Gold waved them down with a flick of his hand.

“Given time I think you’ll come around, Ms. Swan. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to see to another matter. Our mutual friend the Captain has become too much of a rabid dog; he needs to be put down.”

Emma felt her stomach flip. Could she leverage the protection of her team against the Crocodile’s reach if she agreed to work for him? Could she live with herself knowing a criminal pulled her strings if it meant David, Mary Margaret, and even Killian were safe? Indecision rolled through her, making her drop her gaze and stare at the floor as her hands clenched into fists. Could she sacrifice everything she stood for?

She closed her eyes. No. She wouldn’t become a puppet. She just had to trust David. He’d come up with a plan. He’d figure it all out. She lifted her chin, defiance winning out over self-preservation. Gold noticed her angry stare, and paused in his exit.

“Ms. Swan deserves her own room, I think,” he said to his thugs. “Isolation might give her and Mr. Booth time to reflect on their choices.”

One of the men seized Emma’s upper arm. It took all her willpower not to deck him in the face. She jerked out of his grip only to be grabbed by another hired hand. The two of them dragged her, swearing all the way, back down stairs and to the other side of the building. The room they threw her into wasn’t nearly as furnished as Booth’s, and Emma knew it was intended to intimidate her. The cement walls and floor were cold and formidable.

She sat on the bare mattress, resting her elbows on her knees. Emma pushed her hair out of her face and sighed, ignoring the aches in her muscles and head. They’d find her. They had to.


	21. Chapter 21

The sounds of gunshots and shouting jerked her out of a fitful sleep. Emma raced to the door, hoping to hear something. The fighting grew louder and louder, peppered by gunfire. “ _SWAN_!” someone shouted. Someone with an accent. Emma’s heart raced with relief. “Where are you, Swan?!”

Emma pounded her palm on the metal door. “I’m in here!” Nearly a minute later someone stood outside the door, prying at the heavy locks and latches.

Emma expected to see Killian standing there, smirking and ready with a quip about making a daring rescue, but a different thief greeted her. Robin, leader of the Merry Men. Emma was shocked into silence at the sight of the green-clad man.

“Agent Swan, we meet at last,” he said wistfully. He was clearly breathless from the fighting with Gold’s men.

“What are the Merry Men doing here?” she blurted, frowning in total confusion.

“I owed a favor to my mate the Captain,” he said, ushering her out of the room. “Don’t much like using guns, but I made a promise. And I couldn’t pass up a chance to bloody the Crocodile’s nose.”

Robin’s men had secured the corridor, but the fighting continued upstairs in abandoned lot. The thief handed her a gun, licking his lips as he planned their way out. “What about Booth?” she asked, making sure it was loaded.

“Agent Nolan’s looking for him,” Robin explained, pushing through the long hall.

Emma’s next question fell silent as Killian came charging from a side corridor. He skidded to a stop, his wide eyes giving her a thorough once over. “Swan! Are you all right? That bastard didn’t hurt you, did he?”

Utterly bewildered, Emma could only blink and stutter out, “No, I’m fine.” _Killian_ had arranged her rescue? Why would he go to such lengths to save her? She was a resource to him, a way to settle his vendetta against the Crocodile. And sure, he flirted with her, teased her, and made plenty of advances, but none of that explained why he’d stick out his neck so far.

“In that case, we best be off, love. We’ve used up our element of surprise.” He grabbed her wrist and pulled her after him. Emma soon found her footing and ran alongside the criminal. They hurried up the stairs and twisted through more halls, skirting around the parking structure. Robin fell back to support his men in the fight.

When Emma saw the EXIT sign above the push-door, she ground to a halt. “Where are David and Booth?” she asked.

“Other side of the building, they’ll be fine, but we need to go _now_ ,” he said, one hand resting on the door.

“I’m not leaving without my partner!” Emma snapped, turning.

Killian moved in a flash, his hand clamping down on her wrist. “After all the bloody effort we put into rescuing you, you’d throw it all away and get yourself killed?” His jaw was clenched, eyes uncharacteristically dark.

“After all that _bloody_ effort, I’m going to make sure we _all_ make it out of here alive,” she retorted.

Killian took a step closer, bringing his head close to hers. “We swore that we’d both deliver whomever we found to safety as quickly as we could, no matter how much we might wish to seek out others. I found you, Emma, and I’m a man of my word.”

Emma was struck by the sound of her name on his lips. Not Swan. Not Agent. _Emma_. After a few short moments, she managed to nod. He loosened his grip on her wrist and strode back to the door.

“ _There they are_!”

Emma and Killian whirled around to see armed Crocodile guards rushing towards them. Killian swore and shoved open the exit. Emma saw the lead thug raise his pistol. She saw the muzzle flash. She saw the smoke.

She felt the bullet. 


	22. Chapter 22

Everything was rushing. Tilting. No matter how hard she sucked breath in she still burned. Each whirling step was unsure, each blink seemed longer and darker. Heat blazed in her chest, but the rest of her was cold… She stumbled forward, half leaning on something, half being dragged by it. Her body pulsed in erratic beats, the tempo to a drunken song she couldn’t remember.

The sounds were close, far away, muffled, clear. A name swirled around her head: _Emma, Emma, Emma_. Something punctuated her haze with staccato notes, distant but sharp. She was on the edge of sleep; wanted to curl up and rest...but needed to...needed to keep going.

Run.

Everything mixed together. She tasted pain and felt blood. She saw shouting and heard blinding headlights. The ground collapsed beneath her, but something held her up. Something saved her from the ground.

Someone…

…

Emma Swan had been shot before, but it wasn’t like it ever got easier. The sharp aches, burning pains, and killer headache were familiar when she woke up, but still hard to endure. Before even opening her eyes Emma grit her teeth and felt tears well up.

The room was unfamiliar. A flare of panic coursed through her, making her suck down a breath and jerk up in the bed. Pain blazed through her entire frame, wracking her body and forcing a cry from her lips. She heard footsteps and shoved aside her feverish hurt.

Relief flooded through her the moment she saw him. Killian hurried through the doorway, a rag thrown over his shoulder. He’d ditched his trademark leather jacket and wore only a navy button up with a black vest. “Easy, now, Swan,” he said, his voice hushed and calming. “Be a dove and lie back.”

Grunting, Emma reclined back into the mountain of pillows, closing her eyes and feeling her heartbeat pulse in her fingertips. Slowly, the pain receded, settling down in her chest. “What happened?”

Her voice was rough and raw, prompting the thief to grab the glass of water sitting on the side table. He moved to tilt it to her lips, but she just took it from him. He sighed. “Suffice to say, one of your wings was clipped during our escape,” he said.

She snorted. “Was that a swan pun?”

He grinned and shrugged. “Can’t help myself, I suppose. And wounded as you are, you might not have the energy to retaliate against my wit. And I do plan to take full advantage of that fact.”

Emma tried to push herself up against the backboard, going slow this time. She noted Killian’s instant tension, his eyes flicking towards her shoulder. She looked down and saw a bandage pressed against her skin. It was peeking out behind her blood-stained tank top, soaked through.

“A few inches over and it would’ve nicked your heart,” Killian said, his voice sober again. “You’re a lucky woman, Swan.”

 _Emma. He called you Emma_. She blinked, trying to remember what had happened the night before. The thief moved to a dresser on the other side of the bedroom, pulling out supplies from a first aid kit. “The bullet’s still in there, I’m afraid. You were bleeding so heavily I had to staunch it before you went into shock. Can’t say it’ll be pleasant getting it out, but at the very least I have these for you.” He wiggled a bottle of pain meds, rattling the pills around.

Emma frowned. “Why didn’t we go to a hospital?” she groaned. “With qualified doctors?”

“Because we only got away by the skin of our teeth, darling Swan. The Crocodile is on the hunt for us both. Checking an FBI agent into a hospital seemed foolish considering her supervisor’s working for Gold...and that her _dashing_ rescuer is a wanted felon who slipped out of his leash.” He pulled up a chair to the side of the bed, sitting in it as he spread out the supplies on the nightstand. “Keeping that oh-so attractive anklet on seemed daft when the person monitoring it is out to get us.”

She almost puffed out a small laugh, when dread poured over her like a bucket of ice water. “ _David_? What happened to David? A-and Booth?” Adrenaline surged, her muscles locking up again.

Killian put a hand on her arm, giving her a semi-comforting, semi-stern look. “Hush, Swan. Agent Nolan escaped, along with the journalist. They’re tucked away, safe and sound. Last I heard, Booth was quite eager to write the story down. You’ve two reputable witnesses now, who can help stop Robert Gold. Of course...this is where everything gets truly dangerous.”

Emma grunted. “No kidding,” she muttered. She sank into the mound of pillows and sighed, staring at the ceiling. “Can I call him?”

Killian winced. “I’m not sure that’s best, love. The Crocodile and Spencer are both men with wide resources. They could’ve very easily tapped any of our devices. Nolan and I have been sending messages through a courier; a man whose loyalty cannot be bought by Gold.”

“Who?”

Killian turned back to the first aid kit, spreading the rag on his lap and holding a pair of tweezers. Emma tried not to squirm at the idea of a bullet lodged in her shoulder. “A mate of mine. Smee. This is his safehouse.” Killian handed her the bottle of painkillers. Without saying a word, she dumped a couple into her palm and threw them back, chasing them down with water.  

With his help, she sat up on the bed, swinging her legs over the side. Her hands dug into the bedsheets while she tried not to show the pain in her expression. While she steeled herself, Killian unbuttoned his sleeves and rolled them up. “May I?” he asked, his fingers brushing the strap of her tank.

Emma hesitated for a moment, trying to ignore the warmth of his near-touch. She nodded. “But no funny business.”

Killian smirked, making her stomach flip. “Certainly not,” he said. He pushed the strap down, but his eyes were fixed on the old bandage. He used the tweezers to peel up one side before slowly taking the rest of it off. Emma hissed as fresh air hit the angry-looking wound. Her skin was red and bruised, puckered around the bullet.

Before reaching in for the slug, Killian pushed her hair out of the way, tucking it behind her back. He leaned in, licking his lips a little as he raised the tweezers. Emma felt the warm puffs of his breath against her bare shoulder. She looked away.

A second later, her hand clenched into a fist. Even with the meds beginning to kick in, the pain was sharp. “Sorry, love,” he muttered, steadying her arm with his other hand. Emma shut her eyes, trying to think of anything but the mini-surgery or the frustratingly handsome thief playing doctor on her.

How could Spencer sell her out? How could he sell _himself_ out for something as cliché as insider trading? He was _supposed_ to be a leader, a man of integrity. And instead of he was just a power hungry and greedy as Robert Gold.

“What about Mary Margaret?” Emma asked, staring at a painting on the wall. Was it stolen? Forged?

“We managed to convince her to go on a road trip with her friend, Ruby the barista. The Crocodile may be a well-connected man, but fortunately his reach doesn’t extend far beyond this city...yet.” Killian’s tweezers retreated, a blood-slick bullet in its grasp. He set them aside, reaching up to catch the fresh blood with the rag from his lap. It fell quiet again. More questions swirled in Emma’s mind, but nothing managed to spill out. She was too focused on the hand pressed against her chest. Her breath caught as his eyes caught hers. His lips twitched up, but it was more an innocent grin than his usual suggestive one.

“Why did you start leaving those notes?”

His expression didn’t change as he pulled away the rag and dabbed at the edges of her wound. “At first it was merely for my amusement. I heard whispers of a lovely FBI agent following my exploits.” He shrugged and poured some antiseptic on a fresh cloth. “Initially, the notes were just for sport, as was the whole of my spree.”

“And then?” she prompted.

“And then we ran into each other at the docks. Then came the shoot-out with Thatch.” He reached up and gingerly cleaned wound, dabbing away crusted blood and gunpowder. Emma tried not to flinch. “Your passion was evident, Swan. As was your determination and heart. You...fascinated me.”

He turned and grabbed the new bandage, but held it in his lap for a few seconds. He looked like he wanted to say something else, but sighed and applied the cloth. His thumbs secured the adhesive edges, brushing her sensitive skin.

She shook her head, trying to focus. “But why come to _me_ about this case?”

He looked confused. “I told you. I knew you couldn’t-”

“Be swayed by the Crocodile, yeah, I get that, but this isn’t like something I’ve done before. I just chase art thieves.”

He laughed, sitting back in the chair. “And yet here you are, on the precipice of toppling one of the largest criminal empires the world has ever seen. _You’re_ the one who discovered De Vil’s connection to the Crocodile, you’re the one who smoked out Spencer, you’re the one who found Booth. And you’ll be the one to stop Robert Gold’s manipulation of this fair city.”

Emma was stunned. Killian leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “I came to you, my sweet Agent Swan, because I knew you were capable of the task. You were persistent in our own chase, but if your target was someone of a more depraved nature than my charming self, you’d be twice as dedicated.”

She held his gaze for a few beats, her heart beat refusing to slow down despite the pain lessening. “Why did you bring this case to me?”

Killian quirked a brow. “Well I think the medication is beginning to take effect,” he mused. “We just went over this.”

“No, I mean, why do you _care_? You said you didn’t have the stomach for crimes that hurt people, but why get so involved? Why even risk me arresting you? You could’ve sent notes with the information, you could’ve communicated through a middleman…”

“And lose the pleasure of your company?” he teased, flashing a smile.

“I’m serious. What’s your motivation? _Why_ do you want the Crocodile gone?”

Killian’s smile fell for a moment, but it flickered back, softer than before. He reached forward and brought her hair back around, his fingers lingering in the golden strands. “A tale for another time, perhaps,” he admitted, his voice barely a whisper.

Emma glanced down, staring at his fingers tangled in her hair. He drew his hand back, but Emma caught his wrist. “Thank you,” she said, her eyes glancing up at his. How could eyes be that blue? “You saved my life. If you hadn’t come in with the Merry Men…”

“You would’ve found a way out,” he said. “You’re no damsel in distress.”

She was still holding his hand in hers. Her thumbs skimmed across the heel of his palm, moving on their own accord. She found herself leaning forward, guided by something she couldn’t identify. Part of her wanted to reel back, knowing it was a mistake. But as she drew closer, as she felt the warmth of him so near, she couldn’t think…

His lips parted as she neared, but he didn’t move a muscle. Her face hovered near his, not even inches away. The angels and devils on her shoulder didn’t speak in words, but something made her hesitate...something held her back.

Emma’s eyes fluttered shut as her lips brushed Killian’s. It was the slightest taste, the softest touch, but hunger pulled a shuddering breath from her lungs. She kissed him again, more sure this time, deeper. Again.

Killian’s breath whisked out, strained. “Was this the funny business you were referring to, Swan?” he breathed. “I’m more than happy to indulge you...but if …”

In answer of his unfinished question, Emma Swan got off the bed, and straddled his lap, pulling him into another kiss.


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So smut warning, I guess? I'll be upfront about this, smut is not really my forte. And it's really short. But regardless, here you go!

His arms wrapped around her waist, his hands supporting the small of her back. Her own hands held the back of his neck, her fingers teasing through his hair. She kissed and kissed, devolving deeper into whatever haze was growing. Thoughts of their situation fell away with each press of their lips. _The Crocodile._ His mouth parted against hers. _Robert Gold_. His lips trailed away, placing kisses on her cheek, her jaw, her throat. _Kidnapped._ Her head fell back, half-moans escaping. _Shot in the shoulder_. His scruff scraped along her neck.

Heat pooled inside of her. Heat and hunger. She clutched him tight, her fingers digging into his shoulders as his teeth nipped her ear. Emma scrambled at his button-down shirt, pushing it open to reveal his bare chest slathered with dark hair. He paused his voracious kissing as he pulled up her tank. When she grunted, he froze, pulling away to stare at her shoulder. Before he could protest, Emma kissed him again and wriggled out of the rest of her tank.

She whimpered as his warm hands skimmed up her sides, resting on the sides of her breasts. His lips fastened against her throat again as he unhooked her bra from behind. The agent shuddered in pleasure, her mind slipping further and further away from coherent thought.

She ground against his lap, desperate to satisfy the carnal aches. A jolt swept through her when he groaned against her skin, his fingers digging just slightly into her hips. Without warning, Killian lifted her up and lie her down on the bed, hovering over her. He placed kisses down her sternum, between her breasts, down her stomach, while his hands worked her jeans off. Emma’s whole body bucked as his tongue found her core. He seemed to be artistic in every aspect; his tongue was a brush and she was the canvas. The Captain worked her into a masterpiece that she never wanted to come down from.

Before Emma could even catch her breath, he sprawled on top of her, lavishing every inch of her skin with kisses. His breath was ragged in her ear as he entered her. Emma whimpered, squirming in delight beneath him.

“Mmm, those sounds you make are _intoxicating_ , love,” he crooned. “Let’s see if we can’t make the swan sing.”


	24. Chapter 24

She woke up to the sound of humming. Emma opened her eyes and saw the tangled sheets, the clothes thrown around the room. There was a brief moment of horror and guilt that was soon replaced by the aches of her injury. She hissed as she rotated her shoulder as much as she could, working the strained muscles.

The humming came from the kitchen. She forced herself to kick off the sheets, sit up, and stand. Emma pushed her wild hair back. What the actual hell? Or maybe _why_ the actual hell was a better question. Had she really hooked up with the _Captain_? Of all people?

Her groaning only continued as she tried to dress herself, not an easy task with a practically useless shoulder. She managed to step into her underwear, but tugging on the skinny jeans was an impossibility. She settled for throwing on a pair of black sweats she found in the closet, and a plain blue t-shirt as well. Dreading the inevitable, Emma shuffled out into the safehouse’s kitchen.

If she was hoping the baggy pants and overly large shirt would dissuade his sultry smirk, she was wrong. He stood there, shirtless, pushing scrambled eggs around in a pan. Emma tried not to stare too openly at the smattering of chest hair or the muscle that lie beneath.

“She rises,” he said, scooting the eggs onto two plates. Orange juice and a bowl of fruit were already set out on the island counter. “How’s the arm, love?”

“Fine,” she lied. He quirked a brow, not believing her. “Um, so...last night…?” Jesus, what was wrong with her? When did she let a thief turn her into a babbling idiot?

“Was divine,” he said, turning back to the stove. He placed strips of bacon into a second pan. “And so were you.”

Emma balked. “I was gonna say it was a one-time thing,” she managed to say.

He glanced over his bare shoulder. “Well, so much for my next line,” he muttered, pushing the sizzling bacon around.

“What?”

“Oh, I was going to say: If _that’s_ what you can do with one wing clipped, I cannot hope to fathom you at full flight, Swan. Though now the moment’s gone and it won’t sound _near_ as ravishing as I planned.”

Emma’s jaw dropped; she was glad his back was turned. She bit the inside of her cheek, wondering how exactly she was going to worm her way out of this messed up situation. Changing the subject was the only plan she could come up with.

“Have you heard from David?” she asked.

“Not yet. Smee hasn’t been around this morning. Rest assured, the man is likely to arrive just as we’re sitting down to breakfast. He has a knack for sniffing out a meal,” he said, plucking the bacon from the hot pan and placing them on the plates. He slid one over to her, along with silverware.

He cooks too? That was just unfair. Still, Emma pulled out the bar stool and sat down; she was only now realizing how hungry she was. Killian put the cookware into the sink before grabbing his own plate and digging in. Emma was glad for the counter between them.

He ate quickly while she took her time. Eating was always a good excuse for not talking. Smee couldn’t get there fast enough. She needed to know David was ok, she needed to crack down on the Crocodile, but most importantly she needed to get out of this safehouse. She’d given him enough ammo to taunt and tease her for the rest of her life.

“So how do we determine who is and isn’t in Gold’s pocket?” she asked. “Who do we even go to in order to testify against Gold? Obviously Spencer’s out...probably our whole department.”

“And leaking the story out onto the net would hardly be sufficient,” he muttered.

Emma smacked her forehead. “God, I’m an idiot,” she grumbled. “ _Graham_.”

“My so-called handler?” Killian sat back in his chair, giving Emma full view of his chest. She ignored him and sat forward, her mind racing.

“He’s _Interpol_. You said it yourself, Gold’s reach doesn’t extend far outside the city. So we go global.”

Killian frowned. “I can’t say the thought of involving more governments excites me,” he mused. “But that would expand our own resources.”

“But we haven’t heard anything from him since we thought _he_ might be working for Gold. What if...what if Spencer _did_ something? We’ve gotta find Graham.” She moved to stand, but Killian cut her off.

“I’ll send one of Robin’s men to find him; _you_ need to rest.”

“I _need_ to make sure he’s ok,” she retorted. “I can’t believe I thought he was corrupt…”

She stalked back to the bedroom, picking up her proper clothes and gritting her teeth against the aches. Killian followed. “The Crocodile is on the lookout for you. The only safe place is _here_. You go outside and you’re risking your life, Swan.”

“It’s a dangerous job,” she said, kicking off the sweats and shimming into her jeans. She didn’t have time to feel shy or embarrassed. Not with Graham’s safety at risk. “But I’m not hiding away.”

Killian’s lips pressed into a thin line out of frustration. “Why do I even bother?” he sighed. “You’re a bloody stubborn lass, Swan.”

Now it was her turn to flash a grin. “Damn straight.”

Emma struggled with her bra and shirt, but adrenaline and worry were powerful motivators. Mere seconds later she was striding towards the exit. “Hold on,” he said, stepping into his own dark jeans. “Will you slow down for two seconds? Unless you’d like me parading around shirtless.”

“I have to find Graham _now_ ,” she said.

He caught her good elbow, pulling her against him. His eyes were dark, irritated but concerned. “I am _not_ leaving you alone -- especially not in this state. We are in the hunt for the Crocodile _together_ ,” he said, his voice free of any playfulness. “Once it’s done, if you so desire, you never have to see me again. But till then, you’ll not be rid of me.”

He released her elbow, sliding into his shirt. Within three minutes, both of them were dressed. But as Emma charged out the door, she nearly ran straight into someone. The man was short, portly, and wore a red cap. His face was equally red.

“Smee? What is it?” Killian asked.

“A message for Emma Swan,” he said, regaining his breath. “From Agent Nolan.”

“What is it? Is he ok?” Emma asked.

Smee wrung his hands. “He’s safe,” he answered. “But…well…turn on the news.”

“The news?” Emma wanted to just push past the man and hurry out to find Graham, but Killian had already whisked back into the safehouse and was searching for the remote to the TV in the living room. It only took a few seconds for him to find the right station. He swore, wiping his mouth in frustration.

Emma looked in horror at the channel 9 morning report. Journalists were crammed around a podium outside the J. Edgar Hoover building. “As of a few days ago, Special Agents David Nolan and Emma Swan cut ties with the FBI in order to pursue selfish interests along with the notorious criminal known as the Captain. Thus far they’ve evaded arrest and are currently hiding somewhere in the city. Their motives are unknown at this time, but rest assured the full weight of the FBI is being utilized to track them down and bring them to justice. If you have any information as to their whereabouts or activities, please call the phone number provided. It’s certainly a dark day when two members of the law go against their oaths for selfish gain. That is all.”

Supervisor Spencer stepped away from the podium, ignoring the roaring of the press. “I suppose it’s not entirely unsurprising,” Killian said with a frustrated sigh.

But it wasn’t Spencer that made Emma freeze. It was Agent Graham standing behind him.


	25. Chapter 25

“Can you get him a message?”

Smee shrank beneath the intensity of Emma’s gaze, throwing worried looks to Killian. But the art thief said nothing, so Smee swallowed and nodded.

“Tell him these words exactly: Dancin’ in the Moonlight with Lupe, 8:00. Got it?”

“Of course,” the mousey man said.

“Make haste, Smee,” Killian said, “but be cautious. It’s difficult to tell friend from foe.”

Smee nodded one last time before scurrying down hall and disappearing. Killian reached over Emma and closed the door. “Care to fill me in on this plan of yours, Swan?”

Emma ran her fingers through her hair, pacing in front of the door. “We _have_ to talk to Graham. We need to convince him that Spencer’s a lying sellout and that we need Interpol’s help to take down Gold.”

Killian leaned against the counter. “And he’ll be able to decode that nonsensical message of yours?”

Emma paused. “What? Oh, yeah, he’ll know.” Killian just lifted his brows expectantly. Emma rolled her eyes. “On our first date we went to Coney Island. He won me a stuffed wolf playing skee ball; I named it Lupe. _Dancin’ in the Moonlight_ was playing.”

“That _would_ explain all of those pining looks he’s been sending your way. And why he’s been so carefully cordial with me. You know, I don’t think Agent Graham very much appreciated my letters to you, nor our means of eluding suspicion at De Vil’s party. I believe he still fancies you. And who wouldn’t?”

Emma scoffed. “Unbelievable,” she muttered. He feigned innocence. “Here we are, locked away in some stupid safehouse on the run from the Crocodile _and_ the government, and you just want to make jabs at my love life?”

“I wasn’t _jabbing_ at anything; I was merely making an observation,” he retorted, folding his arms.

“Behave,” Emma half-snapped. “Because the only way we’re pulling this off is with Graham’s help.”

…

Had New York always been this crowded? Emma felt almost claustrophobic with the crowd walking around her. It was relief and tension at the same time. She and Killian were just another couple of faces in a city filled to the brim with people, but any of those other faces could be Crocodile men. Any tourist they passed, any business men on his phone, any knock-off vendor, any doomsayer, any cop, any tour guide could be working for Robert Gold.

They took a taxi most of the way there, wanting to avoid as many street-side cameras as possible. But once they were dropped off at the entrance, Emma felt exposed. She knew the first rule of hiding in plain sight was to act like you were supposed to be wherever you were, but it was sort of difficult to enjoy the whimsical atmosphere of a theme park when you were expecting a bullet in your head or your wrists to be slapped in cuffs at any second.

“You know, I don’t think I’ve ever actually had a corndog before,” Killian said, glancing at a poster menu for one of the vendors. “Are they any good?”

“Sure,” Emma said, peering through the crowd.

“Oh don’t be such a spoilsport. Have some _fun_. We’ve got an hour to kill and we happen to find ourselves at an amusement park.” Killian dug his wallet out of his jeans and paid for his corndog.

They ambled through the park, peering at the attractions, rides, and games. Colorful lights illuminated everything after the sun went down. There were bells and whistles, laughter and carnival music. Killian seemed eager to explore and even managed to convince her to ride the Ferris wheel, but the agent wouldn’t be swayed to do anything else. She was too worried.

When 8:00 rolled around, they hung out by the arcade. Kids threw old ratty baseballs at towered milk bottles, squirted water pistols at tiny targets, someone slammed a hammer down but the marker didn’t reach the bell, a young couple tossed darts at balloons. But Emma’s eyes were locked on the skee ball lanes.

Emma nearly jumped out of her skin when Killian bumped his elbow into her. She looked up to him and he nodded towards the street. Agent Graham was walking towards them, hands stuffed into his jacket. His eyes went wide when he saw the two of them standing in front of the skee ball games. The Interpol agent hesitated for a moment, but met Emma halfway. Killian hung back, his eyes casually scanning the park guests.

“What the _hell_ , Emma?” Graham hissed. “First you cut us out of your investigation with Jones and then you and David disappear with him? _What_ is going on?” His eyes were hard, his mouth pressed into a grim line.

Emma shook her head, the words bubbling out. “Spencer’s dirty. He’s working for the Crocodile,” she said, her voice hurried but hushed. Graham nearly stumbled backwards. “Listen, when De Vil had me followed, we figured out there was a leak within the FBI. Once I’d ruled out David, we knew it had to be either you or Spencer.”

“ _Me_?”

“I know, I’m sorry, but the Crocodile has a way of corrupting people. We didn’t know who to trust,” she said.

His lip twitched in agitation. “You _know_ me, Emma. You know I’d _never_ -”

“I know. Which is why I’m coming to you now. I’m trusting you, Graham. Trusting you’ll help us.”

Graham cast a look over Emma’s shoulder at the art thief pretending to watch a game of ring toss. “Spencer’s got the whole department riled up,” he said, his voice low and stoic. “It’s a witch hunt, Emma. He plans to burn you and David. And Jones. _If_ what you say is true, you’ve gotta have proof.”

“I do,” Emma said, readjusting her footing. “Gold confessed it to me himself.”

Graham frowned. “Gold?”

“Robert Gold. CEO of Gold Standard Financial. He’s the Crocodile.”

Graham had to shake himself to process. “You’ve _met_ the Crocodile? You spoke to him?” Emma nodded. Graham’s eyes scanned her up and down, taking half a step closer as concern washed over him. “Are you hurt? What did he do? How did you escape?”

Emma let out a pent up breath. “I’m fine…mostly. Look, I can fill you in on details later. Right now we have to make a plan. Gold’s got his hand in deep with the FBI, so we can’t trust anyone in it. Our only option is for Interpol to take action. An outside law force.”

Graham fidgeted where he stood, never knowing what to do with his hands. “And you saw Robert Gold? You heard him freely admit his guilt and his identity as the Crocodile?”

“Not just me. We found August Booth. David’s with him now, hiding somewhere in the city. We need to jump on this, Graham. We’ve gotta move fast. It’s only a matter of time before…” She didn’t need to finish the thought.

“And what’s he get out of all this?” he asked, nodding towards Killian. “What’s his angle?”

Emma hesitated before answering. After all this time, after everything that’d happened, she still didn’t know herself. Something had to be driving Killian. This wasn’t for fun or sport. It wasn’t a spree to entertain himself. This was serious. Personal. And a complete mystery. “We’ll figure it out later. Right now you have to trust him. Trust me. Can you get Interpol to move in on Gold and Spencer?”

Graham’s face twisted into a look of unease. He shifted on his feet, tugging at the hem of his jacket. “The eyewitness account of an agent condemned by her superior and a missing journalist aren’t a lot to go on, Emma,” he said.

“The longer we wait, the more people the Crocodile can manipulate and tear apart. He’s becoming the puppet-master of this city, Graham. And more people are gonna get hurt if we don’t do something to stop him.”

Graham’s jaw clenched. He stared out beyond the arcade and into the late-night crowd. “I’ll see what I can do,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “Spencer was always a bastard, just didn’t figure him for a traitor.”

Emma almost sighed in utter relief. He believed her. She knew the truth sounded crazy, and it would be so easy to think that the intrepid FBI agent could’ve been swayed to the dark side by a suave criminal, but Graham knew her better than that. She wasn’t some love-struck heroine in a cheesy romance novel.

He lowered his voice, leaning in a little. “Stay safe, Emma. And watch your back.” His eyes flicked towards Killian for a second.

“I will. He has a safehouse. We’ll lie low. But if there’s anything you need from us, send word through that weird little guy who gave you the Lupe message,” she said.

A tiny smile tilted on Graham’s lips. “I’m surprised you remembered it was _Dancin’ in the Moonlight_ playing. You we never really the nostalgic type,” he said.

“Be careful,” she said. “Especially around Spencer.”

The smile dropped as Graham nodded. “And you,” he said, stepping around her and locking eyes with Killian. “If I find out you double-crossed her, threw her under the bus, or hurt her in _any_ way, I’ll hunt you down once I’m done with the Crocodile. Is that understood?”

“I think you’re a few dates short of the protective boyfriend card, mate,” Killian said with a slight sneer of distaste.

Graham puffed up, his eyes blazing, but Emma stepped between them before anything else testosterone-driven could happen. “We’re on the clock here,” she said, glancing between them. “There’s no time for this.”

“Right,” Graham said, straightening his jacket. “Keep your head down, Emma.” The Interpol agent turned on his heel and hurried out of the park. Emma whirled and slapped Killian’s shoulder.

“ _Seriously_?”

“You aren’t peeved at _him_?” Killian asked, surprised. “That whole threatening speech reeked of the implication that you couldn’t handle yourself.”

“That’s not what-” Emma trailed off in a frustrated growl. “Just forget it. Let’s go.” Emma was the only person leaving Coney Island with a frown on her face and anger brewing in her chest.


	26. Chapter 26

The tension didn’t ease on the cab ride back. The second they got back to the safehouse, Emma wanted distance. She’d been _far_ too close to all this. To him. It’d all been so simple before, so straightforward. She was the good guy. She caught the bad guys. But now?

Hours passed, but her worry didn’t lessen. She paced the floor, throwing looks up at the news network whenever she or David were mentioned. Apparently it was national news now. Emma was in the bedroom cleaning her gun when she heard a knock at the door. She raced to the living room, but Killian beat her to it. Smee was standing there, wringing the red beanie he always wore. From just a snapshot glance, Emma knew something was horribly wrong.

“You’re certain?” Killian was saying, his voice charged.

Smee nodded. “Caught word not half an hour ago, sir,” he said.

Killian swore, his jaw clenched and eyes hard. “How could this have _happened_? I took _every_ precaution…it doesn’t matter. Ensure that he’s safe and well looked after. Move him as fast as you can. I will not lose Liam to the Crocodile.”

“Aye, sir. We’ll do what we must.” Smee hurried off, leaving the Captain standing rigid in the doorway. Killian growled out a sigh, slamming the door shut and rubbing his temples.

“Liam?” Emma asked.

Killian practically jumped, his blue eyes flinging open wide at the sight of her. He swore again under his breath, his hands falling to his hips. “It’s impolite to eavesdrop,” he said half-heartedly.

“I thought it was news about Graham or David,” she replied.

“Yes, well, all the same.” Killian didn’t finish his thought. Or even look at her. His brows were knitted together, his expression downright stormy.

“Anything I can do?” She wasn’t sure why she said it. They were both surprised to hear it. Emma didn’t know a thing about Killian’s personal life, and she didn’t know if her “help” would be legal or not. But considering all that Killian had helped uncover, she figured the FBI owed him a minor favor or two.

“Catch Gold,” he said, completely serious. For the first time since partnering with him, Emma saw Killian looking exhausted. He looked as drained as she felt. There was concern in his tormented eyes, a genuine worry in every agitated movement. “Catch Gold and put an end to his schemes. That’s what you can do.”

Emma’s shoulders drooped and all the defensiveness she’d thrown up softened. “We’ll get him. Graham will come through with his Interpol contacts,” she said.

He dropped his gaze, staring at a spot on his shoes. “I hope you’re right, love. I truly do.”

When Emma saw the red dot on Killian’s chest, everything went into overdrive. “DOWN!” she roared, leaping forward and tackling him to the ground. The sound of shattered glass blasted through the safehouse. She didn’t have time to feel embarrassed by landing on top of him. They booth looked up and saw a bullet lodged into the wooden door of the condo. “ _Move_!”

They scrambled up, keeping their heads down until they sprinted through the hallway. “Someone must’ve spied us at Coney Island,” Killian shouted. “ _Dammit_! I knew we should’ve just sent Smee!”

“Hindsight’s 20/20,” Emma replied breathlessly. They took a sharp right turn towards the stairwell. “Let’s just focus on not getting shot.”

They took the stairs two at a time, flying down the flights inside the building. Emma rolled her ankle on the last step, but Killian was right there to hoist her up so they didn’t miss a beat. They descended into the bowels of the basement, knowing that running out through the lobby was practically suicide.

“Where do we go?” Emma asked, slowing only slightly into a brisk walk. She kept glancing backwards, peering down the sallow-lit hall. The blood was pounding in her ears, but she could hear every tiny sound.

“The docks,” Killian answered, pushing ahead of her. “I have a mate with a boat who owes me a favor. He’ll see us safely out of New York.”

“Hold on.” Emma reached out, grabbing his wrist and pulling him back. He looked surprised. “I’m not leaving.”

He didn’t bother hiding his look of intense frustration. “If you stay, you’re likely to get a bullet in your head. Which in itself would be a crime to mar something as lovely as you. Like you said, we should trust Graham will come through with Interpol. _We_ have to get somewhere the Crocodile can’t touch us.”

Emma shook her head, crossing her arms. “Unless David and Booth are with us, I’m not going. I’m not gonna leave them behind while we ride off into the sunset!” she snapped.

Killian’s head dropped back; he stared at the ceiling as a breath whisked from his terse lips. “Bloody hell, woman,” he breathed, rubbing his face. “We’ve no weapons, no safehouses, no _plan_. You’ve worked so hard to stop the Crocodile, are you truly going to throw it all away now?”

Emma couldn’t help the tiny smirk that tilted her lips up. “Who said I didn’t have a plan?” He cocked his head to the side, his brows knitted together. “You’re not the only one the Merry Men owed a favor to.”


	27. Chapter 27

Getting to, or even finding, the Merry Men’s hideout would’ve been practically impossible even without the Crocodile’s gunmen chasing them. The second they stepped out of the apartment complex, Emma’s plan had been shot down – almost literally.

The agent and the art thief sprinted towards the streets, busy even close to midnight. The crowd might have offered them a little protection, but they were hardly a smokescreen. Emma felt the hairs on the back of her neck raise, felt the leering eyes of the hitmen following her. More than once her hand automatically went to her holster, only to remember that she’d taken it off in the safehouse.

It was a dizzying chase. What were once familiar streets suddenly seemed so alien to her. She was the one who _gave_ chase, not the one who was chased. But if their pursuers caught up to them, they wouldn’t be ready with handcuffs and Miranda rights.

“ _Outta my way_!”

A gunshot went off and Emma’s whole body exploded with adrenaline. People screamed all around them, devolving into a mass of heads-down panic. She reached forward, placing her hand on Killian’s back while they ran.

The Crocodile’s men were through with being subtle. They charged through the crowd, guns in the air, shooting off warning shots every once in a while. At first Emma couldn’t imagine why they’d risk the police racing in, but the answer came to her when after ramming her wounded shoulder into a white-eyed tourist: the cops were already on the lookout for Agent Emma Swan and the Captain. So long as the Crocodile caught them one way or another, it didn’t matter how.

Killian grabbed her forearm and swung her down an empty alleyway. She righted herself and kept close, hurrying down the puddled corridor. He knelt and fiddled with the lock on a decrepit looking building while she stood guard, her heart hammering in anxious anticipation of a killer rounding the corner and trapping them. But the lock clicked open and Killian pushed the door. It groaned and creaked, causing Emma’s pulse to skip a beat, but they slipped in and the chaos outside was dulled.

Every ragged breath they took echoed through the dusty room. The only light came from the distant streetlamps and the pale moon. Cobwebs hung in every lofty corner and blanketed the abandoned machinery and boxes. Killian took a few cautious steps inside, peering around at the building while Emma kept a wary eye on the side entrance they’d come from.

“Seems to be an old textile factory,” Killian half-whispered. He reached into a wooden box and pulled out a moth-bitten scarf. He was quick to put it back.

Emma glanced up at the secondary level made up of metal grates and walkways. Moonlight streamed in from dusty and broken windows. Maybe they could sneak a peek outside, see what was going on.

She found a rickety ladder and started climbing, grunting as the tender muscles of her shoulder flared with pain. Killian said nothing as he began to follow her. But the silence of the factory was broken as the door screeched open and footsteps echoed. Killian threw Emma a warning glance before he abandoned the ladder and disappeared among the machinery. She focused on climbing; speeding up the rungs as fast as she could.

Emma made it to the second landing just as the Crocodile’s men poured into the main floor, weapons raised as they searched through the factory. She crouched behind some crates, but was able to peer down through a gap and see the henchmen move.

Where the hell was Killian? Emma’s gunshot wound pulsed with each rapid heartbeat. She closed her eyes for a second, swallowed, and forced her breath to become even. From what she saw, there were four men total. She needed a weapon. But the only things around her were color-faded spools of yarn, rolls of fabric, and ancient looking looms.

“Jasper, Horace, search this level. Gideon, get the upper floor. I’ll check the perimeter.”

Emma bit her lip as her mind raced, her eyes scanning the items around her. She reached for one of the fabric rolls, tugging out a length of yellow pattern and slicing it on the sharp edge of the roller. As Gideon climbed up the ladder, Emma twisted the fabric into a strand, hoping to snag him. She crouched and held her breath, biting on her lip to keep from breathing too loud.

When the lanky man passed her box, she sprung. Heat flared in her shoulder, but the fabric slipped between his teeth. Not wasting a second of his surprise, Emma wrapped her good arm around his neck, clamping her hand down on his nose and mouth. He struggled for a bit, but went down quiet. Below, Jasper and Horace continued their search.

Emma grabbed Gideon’s pistol, checked the magazine, and crept over to the railing. “OI! Roscoe! Get back in here! Guess who we found?”

Emma’s heart leapt into her throat at the sound of scuffling and swearing. Killian was dragged out of the shadows by the two henchmen. She winced as the portlier of the two men sank a fist into his stomach. The other backhanded his face when Killian struggled again. Even from the distance, she could see the shimmer of blood on his lip.

The fourth henchmen returned to the main floor, smirking to himself. “Well, look at this? Who woulda thought you two fuckups could manage to find the Captain. The boss’ll be pleased.”

Emma gritted her teeth, pulling back the hammer of the pistol. She was about to stand and threaten the three lackeys, when someone else entered the factory. The distinct tap that echoed around the building filled Emma with dread long before the figure stepped into the light.

Killian went ramrod stiff in the grip of the criminals.

“Ah, the _Captain_. I had hoped to meet again under more fortuitous circumstances,” the Crocodile said, taking his time in walking towards the restrained art thief. “But you seemed determined to ensure that wouldn’t be the case.”

Emma saw Killian fiddle with something in his hand, but couldn’t make out what it was. Her heart was thudding against her chest so hard she was sure someone would hear it.

“Our partnership was once beneficial to us both, but I’m afraid now you’ve grown into too much of a liability. It’s sad, really, you were quite talented in your craft. It’s practically a crime to kill you.”

“Actually, murder is a pretty textbook crime,” Killian said. One of the henchmen slapped him again. He spat a glob of blood on the floor.

The Crocodile used the tip of his cane to lift up Killian’s chin. “Easy now, boys,” Robert Gold said, though his eyes never left Killian’s. “We mustn’t be too hard on our friend here. His actions are born out of love, after all. It’s noble, if not misguided. Revenge for the loss of his brother.”


	28. Chapter 28

Killian reeled against his restraints, every muscle rigid with tension. “Liam’s _not_ dead, you snake!” he spat.

Gold rested his palms on his cane-head again. “Near enough,” he said with a shrug. “How long has he been in that coma? Three, four years now?”

“He’d be awake if not for _your_ incompetence!” Killian snarled.

“When you came to me for help, boy, I promised I’d use all my resources to heal your brother, and I did. It’s not my fault he’s too far gone to be saved. Your brother is little more than an empty vessel. He’s gone, Captain, and yet you lash out at me as if I’m to blame. His accident had nothing to do with me.”

Emma had to shake herself. She’d read in Killian Jones’ file that he’d had a brother, but never paid much attention to the name. Had the Captain _really_ gone to the Crocodile for help? The way he’d spoken about Gold…she always assumed there was a reason for hating the man, but this isn’t what she imagined. She assumed they were former business partners or maybe Killian thought of him as some sort of competition, but this?

Gold sighed, drumming his fingers on the shaft of the cane. “Why can’t you see it, Captain? You’ve been at this for years, trying to find some sort of cure… That’s how it all started, isn’t it? How the Captain was born?”

“You know _nothing_ of me or my brother, you vile coward,” Killian seethed. Emma could see his shoulders shaking. “Don’t speak to me like you understand my motivations.”

The Gold Standard Financial CEO rolled his eyes. “Believe it or not, Captain, you’re not a difficult man to puzzle out. Your loyalty to your brother is admirable, but your passions have driven you down a dangerous path. Revenge has blackened your heart and clouded your mind.”

Killian spat at the criminal puppet-master’s shoes. Robert Gold responded by slamming the cane against the art thief’s head. Killian crumpled, nearly driving Emma from her hiding spot. He groaned, but picked himself up, his dark eyes boring into the Crocodile. “My loyalty and passions drove me to discover _your_ black-heartedness, Gold. Your cruelty. You manipulate those who come to you for aid. I may be a thief, but you’re a monster. And mark my words, I will end you.”

Gold and the henchmen laughed. “Will you, now?” he asked. “Because it seems to me that I’m the one in the more advantageous position.” At his nod, the henchman called Roscoe lifted a pistol and aimed it between Killian’s eyes.

“So sure of that?” Emma stood and aimed straight at Gold. All five of them looked up. Killian smirked, blood dripping from his split lip.

“Drop it,” Roscoe barked, his own pistol aimed at her. “There’s four of us and only one of you.”

“Three, actually. Your buddy Gideon’s asleep. And besides, I’m Quantico-trained, top of my firearms class. So unless you three are _sure_ you can take me out before I can hit your boss, I’d lower your guns.”

The three henchmen glanced at the Crocodile. Despite having a gun trained on him, he didn’t seem nervous or put off. “I’m rather impressed, Agent Swan,” he began, “not many have been able to outrun me for so long. Especially not injured. Tell me, would your wounded shoulder have any impact on your ability to accurately fire that pistol?”

Emma wasn’t going to let him weasel his way into her head. She just lifted her chin, her eyes locked on target. “Tell _me_ , do you really want to risk it?”

“Perhaps my men wouldn’t be able to stop you from shooting me, but can you stop all three of them from shooting him?” Gold pointed his cane towards Killian, whose jaw set again in frustration and hatred. Emma sucked in a breath. The textile warehouse flushed with tension.

Roscoe and the lanky one – she thought he was Jasper – kept their guns trained on her, while Horace pressed the muzzle of his pistol against Killian’s temple. Fury coursed through Emma, burning hotter than the pain in her shoulder. Her grip tightened on her weapon, but what could she do? She was outnumbered, outgunned… She had no way of contacting any sort of backup, no way of escape, and no way to rescue Killian.

She lowered the muzzle.

“Swan, _don’t_!” Killian pleaded.

She could barely stomach the desperation in his eyes. The fear. Concern. She wasn’t about to let the Crocodile’s men kill him in cold blood. After all they’d been through, all they’d fought for, she wasn’t going to throw away his life for the sake of her short-lived pride.

“Glad you’re seeing _reason_ , Ms. Swan,” Gold said, nodding his head. “I believe we can yet strike a deal. Work with me and I’ll make all this unpleasantness go away,” he said. Emma stared at him, her lips pressed into a grim line. “With a mere phone call I can clear your name, Agent Swan. I can save your career. I’ll extend Agent Nolan the same kindness, and August Booth as well.”

“What about him?” she asked, her voice emotionless.

“I’m afraid the Captain has caused too much damage for him to be allowed to roam free. I cannot ensure his loyalty, nor change his mind,” Gold said.

“If I say yes, you let him go. That’s part of the deal,” she growled.

“ _Emma, no_!”

She tried to ignore him and his plea, but gave a small start at the sound of her name on his begging lips.

“I’ll not set him loose in the world again; he poses too much risk. But…I’ll not kill him, if it pleases you. Arrangements can be made _if_ you agree to my terms, Ms. Swan.”

“Emma, you _can’t_! You _know_ what he does, how he poisons people!” Killian’s outburst was silenced when Horace slammed the butt of his pistol against the art thief’s head. In an instant, Emma’s gun was raised again, this time aimed at the stout henchmen.

“Hit him again, and I’ll shoot,” she warned.

“No need to get reckless,” Gold said. “Any of you. Why don’t we adjourn to a more comfortable venue to discuss our deal?”

Emma hesitated, but before she could respond, a horrible, sharp groaning noise split the tense air of the textile factory. Everyone whirled around to see the garage door lifting up. They were all blinded by the floodlights that poured in.

“FEDS!” Horace cried, dropping his gun and running.

“FREEZE, INTERPOL!”

Leading in a small platoon of international agents, was Graham.

To Emma’s slight surprise, Robert Gold didn’t react at all. He merely turned to face the oncoming wave of agents and waited. Two of the Interpol men chased after Horace. “Gentlemen,” Gold said, “I’m glad you’re here to sort out all this unpleasantness. I do believe we’ve found two fugitives you’re on the lookout for.”

“Stow it, Gold,” Graham growled. “We know everything.”

Gold tilted his head. “I’m not quite sure I follow.”

“He knows you’re the Crocodile.” To Emma’s relief and delight, David came sweeping into the factory, his own gun up. “And soon the whole world will know too.”

The smile fell from Gold’s lips. “The word of two renegade FBI agents hardly seems convincing,” he warned.

“Not even with a reputable journalist on our side?” Emma taunted from the balcony. Gold sent her a venomous side-eye glare, but kept his cool.

“As far as I’m concerned, the only criminal here is that man,” he said, pointing towards Killian. With Roscoe and Jasper at gunpoint, he was no longer restrained. He stood up, straightened himself, and was grinning with such smug victory Emma nearly rolled her eyes.

“Robert Gold, you’re under arrest for extortion, kidnapping, insider trading, collaborating with known criminals, black market trading, and probably a whole lot of other shit,” David said, producing a pair of handcuffs. He whirled Gold around, snapping the cuffs on behind his back. Indignation flashed across the CEO’s face. “You have the right to remain silent; anything you say can and will be held against you in a court of law.”

As David rattled off the Miranda rights and Graham’s men cuffed the lackeys, Emma made her way down the ladder, putting as little tension as she could on her shoulder. She strode across the dusty floor and right up to the Captain. Before he could say a word, she grabbed the collar of his shirt and kissed him. 


	29. Chapter 29

He relaxed into the kiss, though it was hardly a soft, gentle kiss at all. All the frustration over the past couple days, all of the intensity, the danger, the tension, boiled down to that one moment. It tasted of relief, of victory, of pride. And of finality.

When Emma pulled back, it was Killian who looked a little dazed. “Your reward,” she said, out of breath. His eyes lit up, and the familiar suggestive smirk quirked up on his lips. But before he could say some flirty line, she leaned in again. This kiss was slow, light, soft. While her entire being was flooded with adrenaline, alertness, and a little bit of pain, this one action was calm.

“I believe, my darling Swan, my reward only called for a single kiss,” he said, his voice low and husky.

“I know, that one was for me,” she replied. He laughed and butterflies filled her stomach. It was only then that the rest of the world faded back into existence. She could hear sirens wailing, Interpol agents mumbling into radios, doors slamming, footsteps echoing throughout the floodlit factory.

Emma cleared her throat and took half a step back, smoothing out her hair. But the Captain didn’t blush or apologize, he just grinned at her and winked as David and Graham approached.

“How’s Booth?” Emma asked.

David stood beside her, his arms crossed. He looked exhausted. “Fine,” he said, “The guy’ll be downright giddy when we tell him the Crocodile’s caught.”

“I fear this is hardly over and done with,” Graham warned. “He’s got to have some mighty powerful lawyers in his pockets. Maybe a few judges.”

“We’ll figure it out,” Emma said, resting her hands on her hips.

“I’m sure we can get _some_ people to flip on him. De Vil might be a good start,” David said, stifling a yawn. “The Crocodile might not inspire the same sort of power while he’s in an orange jumpsuit.”

“Careful, mate. He may not look like a formidable man, but you’d do well not to underestimate him,” Killian warned.

David’s eyes slid over to the art thief. “Hang on a tick,” Graham said, cutting off whatever retort the FBI agent was coming up with. “Didn’t you say the Crocodile murdered someone? As far as I know, we never discovered any evidence of homicide.”

Killian shrugged. “Oh that was just to get your attention, though I have no doubts he has more than a few skeletons in his closet.”

“But you _swore_ -”

“My goal, Agent Nolan, was to aid you in catching a very bad man. And I did just that. Does it very much matter what the initial motivation was?”

“Yes,” David growled.

Emma rolled her eyes and took half a step forward. “Easy, boys,” she said, spreading her hands. “We just nabbed a guy who leads a criminal empire, I think that calls for celebration, not more arguing.”

David snorted. “Yeah, looks like you two have already started celebrating,” he grumbled.

Emma’s jaw dropped open but Killian just chuckled. “Too right, mate.” Ok, forget celebration, she was back to wanting to smack him. Just like old times.

“Graham? A word.” One of the Interpol guys flagged the Irish agent down.

“Right. Be there in a tick, Phil,” he said. “Duty calls.” Emma and David nodded to him and Graham hurried towards the mass of international police. David pinched the bridge of his nose.

“You called Mary Margaret yet?” she asked.

“No,” he replied with a sigh. “Hasn’t been time.”

“Well there is now, and she’s worried sick. There’s no way she’s enjoyed her roadtrip with Ruby worrying about you the whole time.”

“And you,” he said, giving a bit of a smile. “But it’s one in the morning.”

“Call her,” Emma insisted. “I don’t think she’ll care.”

“Yeah…all right.” David fished for his phone and took a few steps towards the exit when he paused. “You gonna be ok?” He glanced without any trace of subtlety at the art thief.

“Just go call her,” she said. David gave up with a roll of his eyes and started punching in Mary Margaret’s number.

“So eager to get me alone again, Swan?” Killian teased.

“I wanted to ask you about Liam,” she said. The smirk fell from his face. His jaw clenched and he looked absently into the dark corners of the factory before glancing down at his shoes. “You did this all for him…”

“He’d give me quite the thrashing if he knew what I’d done for his sake,” he muttered. “Or at the very least a stern never-ending lecture.” Killian sighed, scratching a spot behind his ear. “Yes, I went to the bloody Crocodile for help. None of the funds I… _acquired_ on my own was sufficient to find a suitable doctor to wake Liam up. I was a bloody fool…”

“You were trying to save your brother,” she said. He looked up, half-shocked. “And from the sounds of it, that’s why you became the Captain.”

“Aye,” he said, almost cautiously. “And why I was discharged from the Navy. He was a Captain, you know, well on his way to becoming Commodore. But like all fair Captains, he tried to go down when his ship was set upon. They say he was without oxygen for six minutes…he hasn’t woken up since nearly drowning…”

Emma rested her hand on his elbow, prompting him to give a small nod of thanks. “When Smee came to me with news of Liam, it was to tell me that the Crocodile caught wind of where I’d hidden him. After that snake was unable to fulfil his promise, I knew he needed to be stopped before the lives of any other desperate souls were ruined thanks to him… The Crocodile was not above using my brother to hurt me, or coerce me into surrender or silence.” His eyes flicked up towards hers again. He reached out and tucked a lock of her hair behind her ear. “Thanks to you…Liam’s safe now.”

Emma searched his face. The more she learned about Killian, the more of a mystery he became. She once thought he was just a flirty, showboating art thief…but now? “Maybe the FBI can reward you with more than just a kiss, Killian,” she said. His brows knit together in confusion. “You helped topple a criminal syndicate that most people didn’t even know about. You stopped a lot of bad things from happening before they even started. That buys more than a little goodwill. Maybe…we can help Liam. At the very least we can give him sanctuary.”

For probably only the second or third time, Killian gave her a genuine smile. It was small and weak, but true. He reached down and clasped her hands in his, kissing the back of her fingers. “You are truly a treasure, my sweet Agent Swan.”

“Emma,” she said. He tilted his head to the side. “Just Emma.”

Now his lips curled into something familiar and maddeningly frustrating. The dark, mischievous glint returned to his oceanic blue eyes. “On a first name basis are we, love?” he asked, moving forward and hovering near her. “What was that line about fraternizing with a criminal again?”

She rolled her eyes. “Do you _always_ have to make a moment flirty?”

“With you, the _enchanting_ Emma Swan? Oh yes, I must.”

He surged forward, pulling her against him by the waist, and crashing his lips down on hers. _Oh, screw it_. She wound her arms around his neck and returned the kiss. His hands slid down her sides and over her ass. She yelped in surprise against his mouth when he slipped his hands into her back pockets.

“Another gift, love,” he said with a wink.

“You are _impossible_ ,” she half-hissed.

“Perhaps, but I’m beginning to think you _fancy_ impossible.”

“Swan!” Emma almost jumped backwards. To her great relief, Killian straightened and didn’t tease. Some Interpol agent was waving her down. “Gonna need your statement.”

“Right,” she breathed, trying to get her head straight. They were still at a crime scene. She blinked a couple times and shook herself. She was going to need a cold, cold shower after all this…

Killian just nodded for her to go, she gave him a small smile before heading off with the agent. The questions were routine. Emma answered each as briefly as she could. Exhaustion was now rearing its ugly head and she’d let out more than a few yawns. She’d been going full tilt for so long, and that coupled with the gunshot wound and the tension between her and Killian…she could sleep for a whole week.

David trotted up to her just as the Interpol agent was finishing. “Emma, where did he go?”

“What? He was just…” She whirled around and peered back into the factory, but it was empty.

“Son of a bitch,” David sighed. He rubbed his face, but hardly looked surprised. “Set up a perimeter. Call –”

Emma just half-heartedly swatted him on the arm. “David,” she said, shaking her head. “I think he at least deserves a head start. Besides, you and I have earned one hell of a vacation.”

He sighed but nodded, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Yeah. Hell, the guy saved my life. Guess I owe him…. Out of curiosity, did he tell you where he was going?”

“Nah, that would take the fun out of the chase,” she said. She paused. “But he did…” Emma reached into her back pocket and pulled out whatever Killian put there. It was a piece of paper wrapped around something plastic. To her surprise, it was a tube of lipstick. Her lipstick. Her FBI recorder from the De Vil fashion night. She thought she just misplaced it somewhere at her apartment…

Curious, she tapped the play button. _“Our partnership was once beneficial to us both, but I’m afraid now you’ve grown into too much of a liability. It’s sad, really, you were quite talented in your craft. It’s practically a crime to kill you.”_

Both she and David gave a start. “I can’t believe it! That sly bastard gave us hard evidence on Gold,” he said.

“This is…this is _irrefutable_ ,” she said. “It’s practically a confession!”

“Your boyfriend came through after all,” David teased. Emma just gave him a flat look and punched him in the arm. After chuckling, he nodded towards the paper. “What’s the note say?”

Emma unfurled it and read it to herself.

                                

_To the Lovely Agent Swan,_

_That was quite an adventure we undertook, wasn’t it? So many twists and turns, it was rather like a novel. We make quite the story, you and I. The Agent and the Art Thief. While there were moments I’d rather not dwell on – your injury being chief among them – most I will treasure. You are a truly singular woman, my darling Swan, no one else would’ve had the tenacity or passion required to take down the Crocodile, but I do know how you throw yourself into a chase. Perhaps soon, after your wings have healed and spread again, you’ll run after a more enticing target – one with dashing good looks and a voice that made you shiver. I do look forward to our next adventure, my sweet Agent Swan, for this was hardly the last. I’ve had a taste of divinity, and am interested in tasting nothing else._

_Until such a time the sea carries me back to you, Emma,_

_~ The Captain, Killian Jones_

Emma just rolled her eyes and laughed, slipping the note back into her pocket. Always so dramatic. Well, at least he was interesting. And, like he said, they made a good story together. The Agent and the Art Thief…nope, Mary Margaret would never let her live it down. Neither would David for that matter. And what would the press say? Booth wasn’t exactly the type to glance over sensitive details…when he interviewed her – No, no she didn’t want to think about that now. Home. Shower. Bed. Maybe cocoa somewhere in between. With cinnamon. And a shot of rum.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, thank you to absolutely everyone who gave me words of encouragement! I wouldn't have written the sequel if not for your enthusiasm. As it stands, I don't have plans for writing a third installment of the Agent and the Art Thief (and I'm also focused on writing a novel AND a screenplay for school, so there's not a lot of time for fanfiction). 
> 
> I mentioned before that this series was inspired by White Collar and the Blacklist, check them out! And follow me on tumblr for more Captain Swan goodness -- http://the-marvelous-jolly-roger.tumblr.com/
> 
> UPDATE: I lied, there WILL be a part 3!


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